


Wintry Calm (so in love with the wrong world)

by Ceebee



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dub/non-con, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Modern!Camelot AU, Prostitution, Teacher/Student Dynamics, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:32:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 95,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot has been divided for as long as Arthur can remember; the Great Wall stretches from one end of the city to the other. On one side you have the rich, and the pure. On the other, a child is hanged for possessing magic and everyone is living on the edge.</p>
<p>Then, one day, Arthur Pendragon looks out of his window to see two dark haired teenagers curled on the doorstep. Slowly he and his girlfriend, Gwen, learn how they came to be there, fall in love with everyone but each other, and begin to tear down the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Read full author notes at my LJ, [here](http://ceeebee.livejournal.com/9303.html) :)  
> My wonderful artist's masterpost is [here](http://lillithblack.livejournal.com/5205.html?view=11349#t11349)  
> Beta'd by [Kit](http://kitsuneshadow.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to write this *snuggles you all*

** Chapter One **

Freya sat on Merlin's lap, her fingers twisting and pulling at his dark hair whilst her other hand ran across his chest over the thin material that made up his shirt. She smiled at him, and he craned his long, pale neck to kiss her on the cheek where she blushed. Across the room on the floor, Morgana was lying on her front, a magazine open before her. Every now and then, she'd raise a slender hand to her mouth, her tongue flicking out to lick her forefinger, before lowering it briefly to turn the page. Merlin wasn't paying her any attention though: she'd been miserable all day.

Freya, however, seemed to have been born with an inability to ignore anyone who was even the slightest bit upset.

"Morgana," she said, softly, turning away from Merlin, before he had the chance to warn her of Morgana's foul mood, "are you okay?"

Morgana looked at her with piercing green eyes, and the younger girl steadily met her gaze. There was a moment of silence, before Morgana turned her attention back to the magazine, flipping the page over a little more forcefully, even though it was clear that she wasn't reading any of it. Freya looked back at Merlin questioningly, but he shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to think about it.

For Merlin, Morgana and Freya, life was separated up into good days and bad days.

Good days were when Morgana managed to sell herself to some rich woman, and she came home with her purse full of notes. Good days were when Merlin gave enough blow jobs to pay for Gwaine's liquor later. Good days were when Freya managed to survive, her secrets going unnoticed by the Authorities.

On the other hand, bad days were when the only work Morgana could find involved men or no work at all. When Merlin, the youngest at seventeen, ended up having full on sex with a guy three times his age, looming over him with a badge of authority pinned to his chest. When, for Freya, the pain got so much that she brought the kitchen knife to her wrist.

Such were the lives of magic users. Merlin liked to think of it as 'living on the edge': surviving on the brink. Really, he just hated to admit that, although all three of them had powers completely out of the ordinary, they'd all ended up whoring. There wasn't much else out there, in the way of honest work, for people like them.

Although, if it wasn't for a man named Gwaine, they'd probably be a lot worse off. Perhaps they'd even be dead. None of them were sure how they could've been so lucky, to have found him.

All they knew was that one day they'd been alone and hungry, and someone's back door had been open. Morgana, the eldest of the three, had grasped the others' hands and tugged them through it, where they had been met by a young man who was obviously pissed out of his mind.

When they entered, he'd been yelling into the phone.

"I didn't fucking do it...I don't fucking know! Ask Ely- what the fuck d'you mean 'Elyan isn't around'? It was his idea...fuck the authorities, Percy. Jesus _Christ_."

Then he'd spun around to see them, his eyes widening in shock. "Shit. Percy, I've got to go." And he hung up before stumbling forwards, pausing only when Freya took a jittery step backwards and half hid behind Merlin.

"Who the hell are you?"

Weirdly, in the end, it was Freya who told him. Something about him appealed to her: his openness, his honesty... although anyone else would probably describe it as him being crude and brash.

She explained everything, but only after Gwaine had introduced himself, and gestured to the phone muttering, "Fucking moron trying to get me arrested for being part of the conspiracy, against Aredian. He's supposed to be my friend, dammit and now I have three bloody strangers, wandering into my house."

"If you can call it that," Merlin said, automatically, before clamping his mouth shut. Gwaine turned his drunken stare onto the boy, and Merlin felt Morgana's fingers tighten protectively over his own.

It was true that the house was more like a shack: a grotty little thing with grimy windows and filthy floors, but Gwaine didn't seem to appreciate having this pointed out to him. "Who are you?" he asked again, and the three shared a look, conveying all they needed to in one glance.

Merlin had already delved into Gwaine's mind: it was so much easier when they were intoxicated. He hadn't even noticed his presence, sifting hurriedly through his memories and more recent thoughts.

Gwaine _had_ been part of the conspiracy against Aredian.

Aredian, who was also known as the 'witch finder'. To people with magic, he was the thing standing between them and freedom.

Which meant Gwaine was on their side, even if he didn't know it yet.

Once they had told him who they were, he'd wasted no time in letting them know they could stay for however long they needed. He made many promises that night, most of which involved killing Aredian, killing the authorities, and killing Percy. Most fervently, however, he promised that he'd help them start their lives again and start them better, with Morgana getting a real job, and Merlin and Freya going to school.

When the three young people went to sleep that night, their heads were filled with thoughts of change.

"Good idea, coming in here," Merlin yawned, as he stared up at the damp ceiling from where he was laying on the floor.

Freya smiled, although the expression flickered slightly when she glanced towards one of the dark windows. "Maybe it was fate," she suggested. Morgana sat up a little, noting Freya's slight agitation.

"It's only ten, Freya," she said, "you should get some sleep, while you still can." And she leaned over to gently press a kiss to Freya's forehead and then Merlin's.

***

Arthur Pendragon left home when he was twenty years old, when his father said that there was nothing school could teach him anymore and that he was going to stop paying for it. Education was free until you were twelve. Basically, if you wanted to know more than your ABCs and simple math, you had to have a family with money. Arthur was lucky to be a member of one of the richest families around— _the_ richest family, in fact, what with his father being the ruler of Camelot.

Like in most places, there was a rich side and a poor side of town, only Camelot almost certainly had the most notable divide in the whole world. The rich were _very_ rich, whilst the poor were _extremely_ poor. This was probably because there wasn't only a split between classes but also between blood relations.

If you were found to possess magic, you were either arrested and executed, usually publically in the village square, or you ran. When Arthur was younger, he rarely had the opportunity or need to stray far from his home, although his father had once taken him across the border.

_The border_ was most commonly known as the Wall. It had started off as a chalk line, but steadily it had built up into a weak, picket fence and then into a brick wall with a door at its centre. Over time it had continued to evolve so that to look up at it now would make you dizzy.

No one was quite sure which side had built it. It had possibly been a joint effort: the only thing that brought the two sides together had been the thing that separated them.

On the other side, everything was grey. That was all Arthur could really remember: in one moment there had been sun and blue sky and richly painted houses and building blocks, and in the next the atmosphere was dark and cloudy, spitting rain onto his suddenly flushed cheeks.

"Sorcery," his father had growled, dull grey eyes alight with malice as he looked about him, "you see this?" He gestured to a family, huddled on the side of the road: a mother, with her cloak drawn tightly around herself and three small children. "This is what we fight against, Arthur."

"Poverty?" Arthur asked, shuddering as the chill of this strange world infected his noble bones. His father, Uther, gave a derisive snort.

"It's not poverty when they choose it, Arthur," he said, sweeping past the cowering family, with Arthur close behind. Arthur frowned.

"They can't have chosen—"

"People who work hard are rewarded. Smart people—people who get jobs which allow them to pay for an education and then their children's education. Everyone here...they are not worthy, son," he spoke about them like he was not surrounded by them, and Arthur wanted to make him stop because they were attracting many accusing and cold stares.

"So, how do we fight it?" the younger Pendragon asked, intrigued, "free education?"

"Don't be a fool," Uther hissed, turning down an alleyway, "free education cannot be given to all, especially not sorcerers." He grimaced. "But their race is already on its way to being obliterated."

Arthur's mouth went dry.

He knew about his father's work. He knew about his endless fight against magic, which had stolen his wife from him, on the day of Arthur's birth. An endless rage which consumed Uther from the inside. Uther and his colleague, Aredian, were both set against it, and they had worked together for many years now, becoming famous for their abilities to sniff out 'witches' and then destroy them.

Aredian was the more talented of the two men at finding the magic users. Uther was the one with the money and the power. Whenever Aredian or one of his men caught someone performing sorcery, Uther would often personally pay to have them executed and would even oversee the building of the pyres and scaffolds; once, he was the one to light the match, before throwing it at the feet of a young woman, whose screams were said to have filled the whole of Camelot, as the fire consumed her, tendrils of smoke wrapping around her throat, before curling up into the sky.

Arthur had heard all the stories. He himself was famed in Camelot just for being related to Uther, who was called 'great' and 'tyrant' in almost equal measure as the the kingdom's strong, fearless ruler. It was expected of him, he knew, to take over from his father, one day: to continue his work, in keeping Camelot safe from magic. And this was why that from the very beginning of his childhood, he was burdened with countless responsibilities as its crown prince.

Still, until now, Arthur had managed to keep himself separated from it. Never had he passed the border. Never had he had any inclination to do so. But Uther had taken the choice from him, and brought him along, and Arthur suddenly had a strange feeling inside, like his heart had turned into a stone before it sunk down to rest in his stomach.

That was the first and only time Arthur witnessed an execution.

They had entered the square, which was dingy, dark and empty excluding the wooden platform at its centre. Arthur swallowed, hands clenching. "A hanging?" he asked, hoarsely.

Uther nodded, and his son fought not to look away at the sickening smile that curled the corners of his lips.

Half an hour later, and the square had filled up somewhat. About a dozen people, all in drab, faded clothing, moved slowly towards the platform with wide, yellowing eyes as they waited.

"There are no more coming?" Arthur frowned. Over the border, executions were something of an event. He had a few friends who regularly went to watch criminals be hanged...as often as they accompanied him to watch a football match. Arthur never went with them. He'd heard his father discussing the deaths in horrific detail enough times with Aredian to want to see it live.

"They're too afraid," Uther sneered, "this place is writhing with law breakers, Arthur. They're not going to risk coming out here and seeing _me_."

"Then...if you know they all break the law, why not just have them all arrested?"

"One day, Arthur. But for that, we'd need an army. You must not underestimate those with magic. They'll do anything to hurt you...they have no shame, no morals. But they do have fear, and _I'm_ the one they're afraid of. You're safe, as long as you're with me. One day, when you're older, it'll be you they're afraid of. One day, my boy, you'll rule the world." And that was what Uther promised, as a young boy was dragged up onto the platform.

He couldn't have been older than ten: a skinny thing, like everyone else in this godforsaken place, with sandy blonde hair which hung over dark green eyes that stared blankly ahead of him. He did not struggle. In fact, he barely moved at all, and the wrestling from the guards was only as they had to practically pick him up, to place him over the trap doors. Arthur noticed that, as the boy was set down—a chain swung around his neck, glinting gold in the watery sunlight. He wondered vaguely how such an urchin had come across it. It was probably stolen. Still, he had to admire the lad, at managing to keep the thing hidden from the guards, who without a doubt would have snatched it off him at the first opportunity.

"Will he get any last words?" Arthur asked, in a whisper. Uther chuckled.

"He does not deserve that...privilege."

And then the noose was lowered and tightened around the child's neck. Arthur felt his heartbeat quicken and his breaths become shorter. Uther's last instruction before the lever was pulled and the boy disappeared beneath the platform, the crack of his neck snapping loud in the square, was "don't look away."

Arthur never forgot the words, and he never forgot what he saw, but he did refuse to cross the border again after that. He made up countless excuses and luckily his father never seemed to think it was necessary.

So, it wasn't until Arthur had moved out that he ever saw something which clearly belonged on the other side of the Wall.

Outside of his window, he could see two young people, a dark haired boy and girl, huddled together on his doorstep.

***

Guinevere, known as Gwen to her friends, had started working for the Pendragon's when she was nine. There was one other child in the house: a boy called Arthur, who was eleven. She tried to make friends with him many times, but he refused to call her Gwen, no matter how often she asked him to. He only ever called her Guinevere, and she did everything for him and his father and any guest who came to stay at their home. In return, Uther Pendragon, her master, housed her in a little room in the attic. She was also educated until she was twelve at the local primary school, and then, when she hit thirteen, her father sent a letter to Uther asking if it were possible to start putting her wages into paying for her education, rather than having it sent back to him.

Gwen's father was a good man but, although he lived on the bright side of the border, his income would be next to nothing had Gwen not started work at the age she had. Hundreds of children her age had jobs. Families did what they had to, to keep from the darkness over the Wall.

Uther had reluctantly agreed to not only use Gwen's wages to get her into school but also to help fund her education himself. He had grudgingly admitted that the girl at least deserved that after being practically invaluable to him over the years.

Despite being a tiny thing and about a fifth of Uther's age, Gwen had somehow taken upon her narrow shoulders the true weight of being the only female in the house. She became Arthur's mother, despite being years younger, caring for him when he slipped and scraped his knees, bringing him medicine when he was sick in bed, and reading to him to send him off to sleep. Had Arthur himself been a little older, his pride might have put an end to such things. As it was, he allowed Gwen to look after him, and her presence in the house became his main source of comfort.

He had always considered the funny little girl as his friend, but she was _still_ a maid, and you did not call the people who worked for you 'names for short'. She was Guinevere, and that was all.

At secondary school, things were very different to being at the Pendragon's. Gwen, who had only gone to part time schooling before now, three times a week, suddenly found herself thrust into a social life. The concept was scarily new and really very, very nice.

Her best friend at secondary school was a boy called Lancelot. Once they had been formally introduced, as 'Guinevere and Lancelot', but Gwen said hastily:

"Don't call me that! It's Gwen."

Lancelot had broken into a wide smile before replying, "Cool! I'm Lance."

After that, it was easy. The pair of them got along so smoothly, you would have thought they'd known each other from birth.

Lance was, really, everything that Gwen had hoped Arthur would be. She felt mean for thinking it, but it was true. He treated her as an equal, because that's what they were. A boy and a girl, on exactly the same grounds— or that was what she had Lance believe. She had no real intention of telling him that she was a serving girl to one of the most notorious men in Camelot. He was too kind to her: too charming, and strong, and clever and funny. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she was terrified to let him go.

So she held onto her secret, pushing it to the back of her mind, and allowed herself to enjoy his company as she began to fully appreciate getting an education. She wasn't interested in any of the maths, and she couldn't draw or design to save her life, but it was the history lessons which caught her attention. Any subject, in fact, which taught a little about what was on the other side of the Wall.

"What do you think it's like, over the Wall?" Gwen asked Lance one time when it was break and they were all outside, trying to pretend that the playground wasn't just big enough for them all, with walls three times the tallest student's height, keeping them all trapped like rats inside. Lance looked down at his hands. Gwen liked Lance's hands: they were calloused and worn like hers, except his were from boxing and fencing rather than from washing up dishes and scrubbing floors.

"I have no idea," he replied, but his voice was a little _too_ soft and his attitude just a little _too_ distant.

"You must have _some_ ide-"

"No, I don't." Lance interrupted her shortly.

Gwen hesitated for a moment, before abruptly letting the matter drop. It made her feel a little better, after all, to think that Lance might have his own secrets, too.

It was later on that same week, though, that Lance asked her:

"Will I ever get to see your house, Gwen?"

She looked up at him and saw something like concern in those warm brown eyes. She could feel herself going red as he stared at her intensely, and before she had really thought through her answer, she said:

"Of course! You can come round tonight, if you like."

Lance's relief was obvious. Gwen wondered if he'd been afraid that she lived on the streets or something. Although if this _was_ the case, she wasn't quite sure how he expected her to pay for school.

"I'd really like that," he grinned at her, and she returned the smile, if a little uneasily.

When they got back to the Pendragon estate that afternoon, Gwen insisted that they use the back door, to get in. Lance was too busy staring in absolute awe at the immense building to object, so Gwen seized hold of his arm, and led him inside.

"This place is amazing," he whispered, eyes still wide and entranced, even though they were only in the tiny kitchen. Gwen smiled, shyly.

"Yeah. It is kind of cool..."

The truth was that Gwen had never really been able to appreciate the grandeur of the house. Seeing it through Lance's eyes was a new, and not altogether unpleasant, experience.

She decided to give him something of a grand tour, making sure to avoid Uther's office and Arthur's bedroom, even though she was pretty certain they were both still out. Lance 'ooh'd and 'ahhh'd at everything, and Gwen delighted in it all. She felt, for the first time, like she was in charge of something.

That was the first night she dreamt of becoming Queen. She was sitting on a throne, wearing a dress she couldn't imagine ever being able to afford, with a crown on her head. It was a circle of silver, pressing lines into the dark skin of her forehead, and resting over her long dark curls, which were arranged prettily over her shoulders.

In the end, she began inviting Lance to 'her house' once a week, whenever she knew that Uther and his son would not be back for at least a few hours after she was. She saw no real harm in it: Lance was her best friend, and she wanted to spend time with him outside of school. And she didn't want him to know that her father would be on the brink of starvation if it wasn't for the money she earned cleaning Arthur Pendragon's clothes.

It all seemed perfectly reasonable to her: right up until the day when they'd been playing checkers at the dining room table, and Lance had suddenly leaned forwards and kissed her right on the lips.

***

"What are you doing?" Arthur's voice sounded from the doorway, and it was like confusion, except it definitely had an undercurrent of ice. Gwen pulled away quickly, her heart beating ten times faster than usual and her brown eyes wide with shock.

Lance suddenly sat up straight again, his eyes flicking from Gwen to Arthur and back again, a small frown set into his handsome face.

No one ever really explained to Lance what had happened. No one sat him down and told him the truth about the girl he had steadily fallen in love with. It was simply that in one minute he was kissing her, and in the next he was being forcibly removed from the house by one of the men, who usually stood guard by the gates outside.

Gwen didn't say a word. She had no power here, not really. Not against Arthur—not yet.

Truth be told, she wasn't even sure that she had loved Lance like that anyway. He'd always been her friend—her closest friend. That was all.

But, of course, Arthur didn't know that, and he surprised himself with the sudden jealousy which reared up inside him. Guinevere was _his_. She had been the only solid thing in his life for years. The one who cared for him, who never ignored him. At that point in time, if someone had asked Arthur who he'd trust most with his own life, he would not have replied with any of the boys he knew from school, or his father. He would have told them 'Guinevere'.

He wandered vaguely if that meant he loved her. He wasn't sure.

In years to come, he would probably regret his actions but, as it was, Arthur had words with his father, and Gwen was transferred to another school. She never saw Lance again.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

When he was very small, about six or seven years old, Merlin had found a newspaper lying in the gutter. He glanced about him anxiously before pulling his father's old coat closer around his shoulders, biting down on his lip, and bending to snatch up the paper before someone else got there first. Then he ran, clutching it to his chest and determined not to fall over.

"Merlin! Hurry up!"

Merlin put his head down and sped up, following the sound of his friend's voice.

Will was exactly two months older than Merlin, but he was a lot bigger—in height because not many people who lived round there were any fatter than a rake—and had shaggy blonde hair. Merlin joined him and grinned before flopping to the floor. They sheltered behind a massive block of flats. It was a huge grey building, but it had an air vent which blasted hot air for most of the day. They huddled near it, and Merlin pulled one arm out of his coat sleeve, leaving room for Will to squeeze in beside him. Then they zipped it up, with the pair of them squished inside.

"You get anything?" Will asked, putting an arm around the smaller boy, whose cold hands scrabbled with the newspaper as he held it up.

"Only this."

Merlin attempted to open it, but it was a broad sheet that was too wide. There was some laughter and shuffling about before they managed to fold back the cover and get a look at the first page.

"Can you read it?" Will asked, frowning at the print and then looking hopefully at Merlin, who only shook his head with a slightly glum countenance.

Will sighed. "What was the point then?" He scrubbed at his face before letting his head fall back against the wall and stared up at the cloudy sky which was marred by the thick air steaming out of the vent.

Merlin shrugged, wide blue eyes blinking in his lean, pale face. He hated it when he disappointed Will, but sometimes food was just impossible to find. He would _try_...but then it would begin to get late, and that was when the bounty hunters would start appearing. Merlin had witnessed too many girls and boys and even full grown adults being dragged away by meaty fists and then stuffed into cages to ever let himself be caught. They came for the sorcerers of course—and the thieves—and anyone who might be a criminal. The more dangerous you were, the more Uther would pay to have you brought in.

Merlin knew all about Uther. Before his mother had died and left him under Will's wing, she had told him of how his father had been arrested—told him that Uther was one of those people who would never see the wonders of Merlin's gift. Merlin had nodded solemnly and had sworn that he would never let Uther anywhere near him—which meant steering clear of the bounty hunters at all costs.

Before his mother had died, Merlin had been preparing to go to school. Now, that wasn't an option. Orphans didn't go to school: what was the point? If there was a certainty that you wouldn't be able to pay for further education when you were thirteen, they didn't want you.

So because he'd been too busy standing on tiptoes in order to look through the dirty school windows during the day and trying to figure out what was so interesting that any child could possibly want to waste a whole six hours learning about, he hadn't managed to steal any food by using magic or otherwise. And then it had been too late.

Now he was sitting in the gloom, squinting at words he had no hope in the world of being able to read. But there were pictures, and Merlin poked at the biggest one excitedly.

"Will! Will, I've _seen_ him before, Will, on posters!" He prodded at Will's ribs excitedly, until the other boy had a look.

The sneer which lit his face made Merlin pout. "That's _Arthur_. He's a loser," was Will's initial comment.

"But... he looks okay." Merlin's head was cocked to the side, and he tugged absentmindedly on one of his huge ears. The picture was of a boy, about fourteen or fifteen years old, with bright shiny blonde hair and a nice smile showing his teeth. He was wearing a blazer, like Merlin had seen some of the other kids wearing in the morning when they went into the school. Only here the uniforms were all second hand and worn and ugly. This boy, Arthur, looked like he had bought all of his things brand new.

"He's a loser," Will insisted, "he's Uther's son. They only like him because he's rich and kinda good looking. Except he's mostly ugly."

"Uther has a son?" Merlin frowned because it couldn't be fun having a dad like Uther. Merlin suddenly felt very sorry for the young blonde. "Poor Arthur."

Will snorted. "Poor Arthur? Merl, he has _everything_. He's a smug git. I _hate_ him."

"Oh." Merlin looked from the photo, to his friend, and back again. "Oh. Well. So do I. He does look like a bit of a prat."

But then, once Will had finally fallen asleep, his head resting on his best friend's shoulder, Merlin carefully ripped out the picture and slipped it into the inside pocket of his huge coat.

After that, the young warlock kept his eyes peeled for other newspapers and magazines. At most times, he ended up pinching one from the rack outside the old newsagents, huddling it inside his jacket and scarpering before anyone saw what he'd done.

But only ever if there were pictures of Arthur inside.

Merlin wasn't sure what it was. He was almost certain that Arthur was an annoying person, but he was also very pretty, and Merlin occasionally needed pretty in his life. To be honest, Merlin needed anything that wasn't grey and cold and lonely. So he cut the pictures out and kept the rest of it for Will, who liked to flick through for photos of football players and nice girls. Sometimes before they fell asleep, they'd take turns to make up stories about the people they found, as they'd had no idea what the actual articles were about.

Merlin always clutched onto the pictures of Arthur, and sometimes he'd manage to persuade Will to tell him a story about the older, good looking boy. Will would grudgingly consent, but usually Arthur ended up as the villain who died in explosions or gone-wrong operations or was brutally murdered by another young lad, often called William the Great or something of the like.

Even so, Merlin felt that Arthur had joined them in a way. Somehow, he was always there, and it seemed of great importance to the small boy that he fell asleep to the thought of Arthur at night.

He wondered if, one day, he'd be able to meet Arthur and tell him about it all, and thought about what he might say. Maybe he'd take Merlin and Will in and they could live with him. That was after Will had killed Uther, of course.

A few years later when the two boys were around nine, the pictures in Merlin's pockets showed the steady progression of Arthur as he became taller, grew his hair out and then cut it all off again, wore braces and then grinned without them for the camera, took a driving test and passed at the age of sixteen.

At the same time, Merlin had also gotten taller and, if it was even possible, significantly thinner. His hair became shaggy, but still didn't manage to cover his ears, and his face was grubby. To that point, however, the young warlock still had as much skill in reading and writing as he did two years prior.

It seemed that no matter how much reading material he filched, the squiggles on the page simply refused to make sense.

The only thing that Merlin could possibly say had improved was his magic. It was getting easier to control every day, and Will would constantly exclaim about how powerful he had become. It was true, so surely Merlin was justified in feeling at least a little proud of himself—perhaps even a bit cocky.

***

"I want _that_ one!" Merlin exclaimed.

"The one with Pendragon on the front?" asked Will.

"Yup," Merlin replied with conviction.

But his best friend only gave him an incredulous look. "Are you serious? Are you _still_ collecting pictures of him?"

"Leave me alone. Yes I am. And I _want_ it!" Merlin pressed, giving Will a playful shove.

The other boy bounced back, rolling his eyes. "Okay! So get it then, but hurry up! It's getting dark!"

Will was being optimistic: it was already dark and had been for the last half hour. But Merlin had never been caught before, and for once, they felt it would be safe to do a little stealing, even if bounty hunters were about.

"Which they probably won't be, anyway," Merlin had tried to assure Will earlier, "I mean...we haven't seen anyone taken in _ages_. Besides, we have my magic!"

Merlin grinned a little, confidence filling him up. He could do this. He knew he could; it was so easy. For a second, he felt the familiar tingling—a warmth behind his eyes that he knew, judging from Will's approving expression, had melted to gold. Then the magazine he had been looking at fell from the rack and instantly whizzed over to them.

Merlin reached out and snatched it up with a triumphant smile on his face as he turned to look at his best friend.

For a second, Will looked like he would have smiled, too. Merlin could see it halfway there, hidden just in the corner of his lips, before it suddenly disappeared and was instead replaced with a look of sheer panic.

"Merlin!" he cried out, before springing forwards and shoving Merlin roughly to the ground.

He lay sprawled flat on the pavement and looked around frantically in confusion. "Will, what—"

" _Get out of here."_

At the sound of Will's choked voice, Merlin scrambled to his feet without question, only to stumble backwards with a frightened gasp when he finally saw what Will was seeing:

The cage— huge and made of enchanted metal. It was a magic which worked tirelessly against itself, so that if a sorcerer was trapped behind the bars, they would not be able to cast a single spell.

Merlin's blood ran cold when he realised that a man was walking towards them—a big man who was at least twice Will's height and about seven times as wide.

Merlin's breath caught as he locked eyes with Will and he reached out to grab at his sleeve. "No, Will," his voice was pleading when the other boy wrenched free and pushed him again, almost making him fall over for a second time.

"I said _go_ , Merlin," Will snarled.

For a moment, Merlin did not move, and he watched fearfully with wide eyes as his friend—the only one he had in the whole world —stepped forwards.

Then he ran, his feet slipping on the cobbled ground and the magazine rolled up tightly in his fist. His heart was now throbbing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn't look back because he _couldn't_. He could only keep on moving, farther and farther away until it was too difficult to run anymore, and there were tears blurring his vision, as everything that had just happened caught up with him. As it all hit him squarely in the chest.

And of course he turned to look back the way he had come, breathing hard and fast. Only it was far, _far_ too late.

When he finally got to where the little newsagent was, there was no sign of the cage or the bounty hunter. At this, Merlin pressed a tiny fist to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut so that the tears couldn't escape.

Had anyone else been brave enough to be out after dark a few minutes earlier, they would have seen a young boy with sandy hair, trying to swing a punch at a giant of a man, who locked the boy's wrists in his own fists and lifted him into the air so that he could bring him right up to his face.

"You're a fucking sorcerer," he grunted, giving the boy a shake, profanities hard on his ears.

"Yeah," the boy spat back, defiantly, his legs waving in the air as he tried to kick him.

A few seconds later and the young one was thrown forcibly into the cage, his hands getting skinned on the splintered, wooden floorboards. He sat up, already bruised, before letting his fingers fly to his neck.

It was there that the sandy-haired boy wore a fine golden chain. The only thing he owned of any value, given to him by his father. He held onto it tightly, fighting back heavy tears.

He was doing this for Merlin. It was worth it.

And now, Merlin stood alone and in the middle of the road, swamped in his coat but still shivering in the cold. He swallowed, pressing his palms against his eyes to wipe away any traces of water, but only ending up with dirty smears on his cheeks from the filth on his fingers. A sob escaped him as he looked in despair at the point where Will had been taken. He swayed slightly, reaching wordlessly for his friend, staring out into the emptiness.

Then his knees gave way, and he crumpled to the floor, curling up as small as he could. He rolled into the gutter with his hands over his head, hiccupping and coughing into the crook of his elbow and hoped that the world might end right there: because he didn't want it anymore. He didn't want _any_ of it.

***

As it turned out, there had been one other person brave enough to be out after dark. She had seen it all, green eyes flashing when the taller boy had been grabbed and thrown. She had heard the bones in his wrists crunching as he crashed to the floor of the cage—had seen the determination in his eyes.

He was a fighter, she knew. As for his friend though, the one who _really_ possessed magic, she had no idea. Her immediate thoughts were that he was a coward, to run away like that, but then he had returned, pale face flushed and lips parted and panting, before he collapsed.

He was so _tiny_ , and it made her feel sick.

Her name was Morgana, and she had seen younger boys and girls carted away to be imprisoned or even executed.

It took courage to sacrifice yourself for someone you love and let yourself be taken. But it took even more to be the one who was left behind. Sadly keeping that thought that in mind, she ran out from the bins she'd been hiding behind and into the road to drop to her knees beside the skinny child.

She gently tugged on his huge coat until he rolled over and was no longer curled up but laying flat on his back. He appeared to have fallen asleep, his breaths milky and twisting in the air. Morgana pushed his fringe back off his face, taking in the pallor of his skin, his hollowed cheeks and chapped lips. He was younger than her. Just a little boy really, and there was no way that he could be heavy, so she crouched by him before hooking thin but strong arms beneath his knees and behind his shoulders.

It was tricky to lift him, but she managed with a grunt of exertion, her long dark hair hanging over her face as she cradled the boy close to her. After a few moments, she began walking and kept close to the buildings, out of the road.

She knew his name was Merlin. That was what the other one, Will, had yelled at him.

_Merlin, get out of here._

Morgana grimaced, shifting his weight slightly and ploughing onwards. She found herself muttering as she walked:

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Merlin. Not after he gave himself up. I won't let anything happen. Almost there now. My Merlin."

My Merlin.

Her Merlin.

She had no idea who he was, but he was hers because finders keepers, and Morgana felt that she had finally stumbled across something worth holding onto.

***

Arthur had been having trouble sleeping that night. Outside, soft white flakes of snow were constantly drifting down, whilst inside the air was thick with a lazy heat he paid for. Now, sitting up in bed, he cursed his life choices: the warmth was unbearable.

Looking to his left, he saw his girlfriend, Gwen, curled up with her head resting on the pillow and facing away from him. _She looked lovely_ , he thought, with thick curly hair draped over her shoulders and dark skin glowing in the moonlight that melted through their window.

He sighed and swung out of bed, bare feet pressing into the carpeted floor. Then he padded over to the window. It was covered with milky condensation, and Arthur grunted at the sight of more confirmation that he was living in a furnace. He ran a hand through his blonde hair before turning on his heels and striding from the room. He needed water.

Arthur and Gwen had bought their house together. It was bigger than Gwen's father's home by far but about ten times smaller than Arthur's house. It was more like a cottage than anything: homely, comfy, cosy. It reminded Arthur of a place where somebody very old might like to live. He couldn't say that he liked it much, although he knew that Gwen adored it.

The kitchen was small and not difficult to navigate, even in the dark. Arthur ran his fingers over the wooden table and felt his way over to the sink before twisting the tap smoothly. Water poured down in a steady stream of cold, and he watched it for a moment as it swirled down the plughole, gurgling as it went. A few seconds later, and he had snatched up a glass from the side. He used it to catch the liquid, not bothering to turn the tap off when he raised the glass his lips and drained it. His throat worked as he swallowed, droplets gathering at the corners of his mouth and running down his chin before he caught them with his tongue. Then he shoved the glass beneath the tap again.

After that he shut off the water, carefully placed the glass down on the counter, and braced his arms against the sink. He could feel the cold sloshing about inside him and shuddered. It was an odd feeling: his skin was hot and moistened with sweat, whilst his insides were chilled. Arthur stared out the window that was above the sink and covered with the same condensation that diseased all the glass surfaces in this house. In a sudden fit of frustration, he slammed his hand against it and dragged his palm across it, letting the moonlight flood his face.

Then he let his hand drop— it was cold and tingling when he wiped it on his shirt. Outside, the night was clear. But it was boring. _Everything_ was boring.

He shook his head and was just about to push away from the window to turn and head back to bed...when he saw _them_.

***

They were curled up on his door step— pressed together with the boy's head in the girl's lap. She was leaning back against his door, her eyes shut and hands in his hair like she had fallen asleep stroking it. Both had pale skin and dark hair, and at the same time were worryingly thin and eerily beautiful.

Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away, and it took a few moments for it to truly hit him that these people didn't _belong_ here. He swallowed, biting down on his lip and trying to decide what he ought to do. It was obvious to him now: these strangers were from over the Wall and although there was no official law saying that a person couldn't move from side to side, the act itself was highly frowned upon. Furthermore, it was very much a matter of survival. Arthur knew that if he didn't do something now, then he might walk outside later to find two dead bodies slumped against his front door because they'd been murdered in the night by some fascist, crazy bastardThe thought made Arthur feel ill, and he stumbled from the kitchen, scrubbing a hand over his face to try and wipe away the images of blood splattered over the pavement and long black hair hanging over clouded eyes. Arthur pulled on a pair of shoes and then flung open the front door, gasping in shock as the freezing air hit him, goose pimples rising up on his flesh. He took a step outside, cursing under his breath when he ended up landing in a puddle of freezing water. But that was when he saw that the young boy was barefooted. The skin of his feet was tinged grey, and his toes were curled up in the snow.

"Fuck," Arthur muttered, because he didn't look much older than fifteen, and the girl couldn't have been more than eighteen. "Fuck."

After a few more moments of deliberating what to do and at the same time hopping from foot to foot, Arthur moved closer and placed a firm hand on the girl's shoulder, giving her a shake.

Heavy eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at him blearily, confusion set deep in her green irises.

"Are you...all right?" he asked in a careful tone. Arthur felt like a complete fool and tore his gaze away from her pained but lovely face to look down at the boy. Her reaction was immediate.

She jerked back from him, a snarl tearing from her throat.

"Get away from me," she hissed, and he noted how her whole body was shifting: angling to give the unconscious boy as much protection from Arthur as possible.

Arthur took a step away, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "You'd be better off inside," he said, "chances are that you'll die out here."

He watched for her reaction to the blunt statement, but she didn't so much as flinch as she merely kept on clinging to...her brother? Boyfriend? Something told Arthur that there was a lot more than that to their relationship, but quite frankly, he didn't care:

He just didn't want to have the deaths of two young people on his conscience.

She stared up at him a moment longer, as if she were trying to come to some sort of decision. Arthur fought not to roll his eyes because surely, being warm inside _had_ to be better than sleeping in the cold and in danger out here.

He was just thinking about how resistant she might be if he simply leaned forwards and dragged her into the house, when the boy stirred in her lap, and they both stared at him. In an instant, the girl's breath sped up, her hands fluttering anxiously about him before he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Arthur's mouth went dry, as he finally got a proper view of his face.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Morgana carried Merlin all the way back to her home, which she rented off the landlord, Gaius, for a few copper coins a week. It was a big building, and each tenant paid for a single room. Morgana's was right at the top.

"I'm sorry, dear, but it would be stupid of me to give you one of the rooms on the ground floor. Need to reserve them for old boys who can't be handling all those stairs, like me," Gaius had smiled kindly at the girl, who nodded nervously before scarpering up staircase after staircase until she was at her door.

She made that journey again now, only this time she was borne down with Merlin's weight, and it took her a lot longer than usual. Eventually she reached the top and stood in front of her door, which she had once painted lilac after Gaius had shown her how to dye the cheap, white stuff which had been all she could afford, with the plants in his store cupboard. He was one of the only doctors on that side of the Wall so as well as being a landlord, he also was an expert in herbs and any other inexpensive medicines.

Only now the paint was peeling on the dilapidated surface, leaving strips of ugly brown, and she realised that there was no way of opening the old door with her arms full.

"Hey, you," she called to a kid, who'd just come tumbling out of one of the many doors down the corridor—followed closely by a stream of abuse that was no doubt coming from the mouth of his mother. Then the door slammed, and the boy grimaced, before turning to look over at Morgana.

"What?"

"Open this door," she instructed him, nodding towards it.

The boy stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. "You have to tell Gaius before you let other people live with you," he said, glaring at her.

Morgana was tired and patience had never been one of her strong points to start with. "I _will_ tell him, you little brat, now open the door!"

The boy went slightly red. "No!"

Morgana let out a cry of frustration and at the same time felt a familiar heat behind her eyes. Recognising her magic rushing to her aid, she muttered a spell which she had learnt from one of Gaius' many books and sent the boy stumbling backwards until he landed on his backside with his mouth hanging open. Morgana swallowed, fear suddenly making itself known. She adjusted Merlin slightly, determined to hold onto him no matter what and watched the boy nervously make a decision.

He sat there for a moment longer then got to his feet, running over and opening the door before scarpering again.

Before entering her tiny room, Morgana took a deep breath and silently prayed that she'd scared the kid enough to make him keep his mouth shut. Merlin began squirming in her grip then, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to sit up.

But Morgana held on tightly. "Stay still," she muttered.

In that instant, upon hearing the unfamiliar sound of her voice, he let out a little whimper and suddenly opened his eyes, revealing twin pools of shining sapphire.

Morgana took a few final, stumbling steps, whispering "hang on," and carefully lowered him onto her bed. The springs creaked loudly as he sunk into the thin mattress.

"What..." Merlin began quietly, knuckling his eyes and propping himself up on skinny elbows. Observantly, he stared about him and then at Morgana with a puzzled expression on his face. "Who are you? Where am I?"

As Morgana reluctantly returned his confused gaze, she soon realised that she had no idea what to tell him. She fiddled anxiously with the hem of her shirt then tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear. "You need to sleep, I think. I should get Gaius..."

"Who's Gaius?" Merlin asked in a nervous voice. At that point, he was starting to climb out of bed, with the air of someone who was preparing to make a run for it.

Morgana took an automatic step forwards, suspicion colouring her pale face. "He's the landlord," she told him, "and you have to stay here."

"Why?" Merlin sounded genuinely confused and perhaps a little afraid as he glanced towards the window, which was thick with grime, and then the door, which was still slightly ajar.

"Because I didn't carry you all the way here, for you to just run away," Morgana replied in a firm tone, quickly stepping to the door and pushing it shut with a _click_ that resounded with finality about the room.

At this, Merlin gave a frown that gradually turned into a glare and then into a downright glower. "If you don't let me go, I'll kill you." he said, and he was so very small with a voice still as high as a girl's that the intended threat didn't sound anything but wrong.

Perhaps, in some places if a nine year old child spoke those words to you, you'd scold them or else laugh in their face, but Morgana did neither, because she knew that Merlin was deadly serious, and that _deadly_ was the key word. He could murder her in a second: she could feel it, a power that resonated within his bones and that was so much older than he was. It was more power than she could ever hope for.

"Okay," she replied softly and watched as his stance relaxed, though his expression became even more uncertain. Obviously, he had been expecting her to put up more of a fight.

His gaze lingered on her face, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. "Who _are_ you?" he asked again, seemingly giving in to his curiosity even as he edged around the room and moved steadily towards the exit.

"My name's Morgana," she answered, "I saw what happened to your friend, and then I saw you in the road." She blurted out the last sentence in a rush, hoping something in it might make him stay.

In an instant, Merlin froze, his steadfast countenance slowly crumbling into one that was purely and utterly crestfallen. "My friend..." he said, quietly.

Morgana almost didn't move quickly enough to catch the boy as he sagged forwards, his palms pressed to his eyes as sobs shook his shoulders. She sank down onto the floor with him, and he leant back against her, as she held him close, rocking him gently.

"Please stay," she found herself murmuring as he cried because she'd never realised before quite how lonely she really was— until she'd been presented with an opportunity for that solitude to be obliterated.

Merlin twisted his neck and found himself burying his face in Morgana's shirt. He didn't know who she was, only that there was no one else.

***

Gaius' building was pretty much in the centre of the Ealdor estate. It was a great mass of grey brick, in which there were a few hundred rooms that all housed families of various sizes.

The old landlord had watched so many people come and go—some of them moved on, while a lot of them passed away. He was used to it by now though: to administering medicine which was just too cheap to ever have any real effect. To watching a man breathe his last, even as his own deft fingers rubbed salves into festering wounds or mixed herbs and hot water in a flask by his bedside.

His life was basically an endless run of healing, housing, and mourning. Some nights, he'd find himself in bed staring at the damp ceiling and praying that, the next morning, he would just not wake up. But then he'd think about all the people who would be left homeless if he died in addition to the awful weight of responsibility that would be pressed down upon him, and instead of sleeping he'd spend the night tossing in his bed, his chest aching with the heaviness of it.

There were some good things though: a few rays of light, which made it that much easier to get up each day. One in particular was the little girl who lived upstairs.

She had arrived on his doorstep all bundled up in a thick white blanket, with her name pinned to the soft material: _Morgana_.

Gaius had glanced around, heart sinking as it dawned on him what this meant: another to add the list. One more person who would need to be taken care of. He bent down to rescue the baby from the cold floor, his old bones creaking in protest as he held her in his arms. After placing a finger on her cheek, he frowned when he noticed how her skin was very cold and pale. It was a wonder she had survived out here, and he cursed whoever had left her for not ringing the doorbell so he could've got to her sooner.

With a heavy sigh, he headed back inside, cradling the child until her eyes began to move beneath their lids, and then her mouth opened to let out a wailing cry. He'd made _shushing_ sounds all the way back to his room, where he sat down with her on the bed and rocked her gently, wondering all the while what on earth he was meant to do with her:

Especially when her eyelids finally flew open to reveal dark green irises, flecked with bands of gold.

In the end, he'd handed her over to one of the young couples living upstairs and managed to distance himself from her as he focused on other things such as keeping the building up and running and keeping its residents alive. Morgana was always _there_ though—constantly getting into trouble, running away the moment she could walk, hiding from anyone who tried to take care of her. She moved from room to room, couple after couple taking her in and doing their best to keep her from harm. They wouldn't have bothered though, if Gaius hadn't knocked off half their rent in return.

He wasn't sure what it was about her: maybe simply that he knew one day she would scream with burning gold eyes, and a window would shatter or would eventually laugh and find herself rising off the floor. However she discovered the magic in her veins, Gaius was sure that she wouldn't live long afterwards—not in a place like Ealdor. If you were discovered, the people here were so poor that they'd been known to turn in their own family members for a little money. For a little security.

With that, Morgana was always at the back of Gaius' mind, although it wasn't until twelve years after her arrival when he was woken in the middle of the night by a knocking on his bedroom door that he ever allowed himself to take proper notice of her.

He'd gotten out of bed with a groan and staggered to the door before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Standing in front of him, had been a ghost: her pale skin luminous beneath the harsh electric lighting which, dammit, Gaius had forgotten to turn off before sleeping and her hair, black as night and making her seem even paler.

"Morgana," Gaius began, recognising her instantly. She stared up at him, and swallowed—her eyes were very red.

She buried her face in her hands. "Gaius," she whimpered, taking a step towards him, and the old man shook himself, wondering why it was taking him so long to act in the presence of a crying child.

Perhaps it was that whatever was troubling the girl, she had chosen to come to _him_ of all people despite the fact that they had barely spoken, but in any case Gaius had immediately felt an incredible surge of protection towards her as he knelt down and pulled her to him, letting her bury her face against his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, as she trembled against him.

"Nightmare," she whispered, and Gaius stiffened slightly before tightening his hold on her.

"It's okay. I've got you now," he soothed until her sobs quietened, and she fell limp, her head lolling.

Gaius had carried the sleeping little girl all the way back to her room. At the time, she'd been staying with an elderly woman on the second floor, so he didn't have to travel far. The woman had still been sound asleep when he entered, which shocked him, seeing as the room had obviously been wrecked in recent moments.

Gaius looked from Morgana to the broken vase and splintered table and sighed sadly. It had started and already he had become far too attached to the girl to let anything bad happen to her.

After that, Gaius set about teaching Morgana all he knew about magic and watched with pride as the months went by with her learning a little about how to control it. She had been born with the power, raw inside her, but without incantations she could never use it properly. This, of course, was perfectly normal, for Gaius had never heard of anyone who could wield magic without the use of words. Or maybe he _had,_ but it was never a natural skill. Power like that would take time: decades of practice.

A year after this first nightmare, Morgana had her own room, right at the top of the building. Gaius had watched her scramble up the stairs with a heavy heart, for even after all this time, he was sure she didn't truly trust him.

And he was also certain that it was mostly his fault...if only he'd taken her in properly at the beginning, rather than have had her passed from person to person. She was truly a lovely little thing, and everyone had been eager to look after her at first, but she was always rejected eventually. It pained Gaius to think about how he had failed her.

But now he watched as she staggered into the building, supporting another child in her arms with a determined expression on her face. She was quick, even when obviously struggling, and moved with agility up the stairs.

Gaius hesitated before starting after her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd attempted the stairs and groaned internally before beginning to mount them.

***

The boy was undeniably attractive. The thought shocked Arthur, seeing as he had never found skinny youths with black hair and big ears 'attractive' before. The boy's long fingers were tight around the girl's sleeve, and his pretty, lamp-like blue eyes were resting on Arthur's face— filled with a profound awe.

"Arthur," he breathed, voice harsh like the cold, and then a shiver rattled through him.

The blonde stared at him, taking in just how thin he was—the translucency of his skin, the dirt that was smeared across his face. _Attractive?_ Arthur almost shook his head in wonder at his own brain.

He didn't ask how the boy knew his name, for he was pretty sure that half the world knew his name. "You need to come inside, both of you," he told them, dragging his eyes from the boy's face to look at the girl, who seemed to be the one responsible for them both.

It was the boy who got unsteadily to his feet, however, and bent over to take the girl's hand to drag her up so that she stood beside him: shoulder to shoulder, strange in the night like ghosts.

"I'm Merlin," he mumbled softly, but Arthur noticed how he acted—as if something was holding him back. He was still eyeing Arthur with that same, wondrous gaze, and the older man shuffled uncomfortably, wishing that there was someone else with him to distract the stares.

***

Upstairs, Gwen twisted beneath the heavy duvet, eyelids fluttering gently as she sat up with her long dark hair pooling over her shoulders. She turned to look at Arthur, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, but the bed beside her was empty.

She frowned, drowsy and unsure what had woken her. "Arthur?" she whispered, uncertainly, into the darkness. After a few more seconds, she swung out of bed and gasped as she realised why she had woken up. A draught was seeping through their open bedroom door, battling with the usually omnipresent heat. She shivered convulsively before seizing a dressing gown from the armchair by the bed, slipping it on, and leaving the room.

As she walked downstairs she saw the front door flung open, and the snow was blustering in from outside. "Arthur?" she called again, hurrying towards the door and looking out.

Arthur was standing there in the snow. "Guinevere," he turned to her, relief painted obviously on all of his features.

She looked at him, confused. "Why are you—" she began but was almost immediately interrupted.

" _Is that your wife?"_

Gwen turned, surprised, to see who had spoken. A young girl was staring at her defensively with features pinched from cold and peaked from hunger. Still, Gwen wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered, her heart speeding up a little, because the girl was beautiful.

"No," Arthur answered her carefully even as he moved to put an arm around Gwen's waist and pulled her close to keep her warm. "This is my girlfriend, Guinevere."

"Gwen," Gwen corrected automatically. Arthur scowled.

Gwen's eyes travelled over the strange girl and then onto the boy beside her, who seemed slightly more at ease with the situation. He was even thinner than the girl and looked almost deathly, but when he smiled it was like heat spreading across his face, his chapped lips unfurling through icy skin and melting everything that it came into contact with. It was impossible not to smile back. Even Arthur's lips might have twitched a little in response.

"I'm Merlin," he introduced himself a second time, "and this is Morgana." When he uttered her name, Morgana's expression darkened. She looked like, at any second, she might turn tail and run off into the night, and it seemed that Merlin's loose grasp on her wrist was the only thing that held her in place.

Gwen looked up at Arthur's face, searching for answers, completely bemused as to what was going on.

"They were on our doorstep," the blonde explained, clearing his throat as he returned her confused gaze. "I was just inviting them inside, to warm up."

"Oh..." Gwen hesitated. "Well. That sounds like a good idea." And she hopped back into the house. She couldn't remember the last time she or Arthur had invited anyone round...of course, Merlin and Morgana hadn't exactly been _invited_ anywhere, but still. Nothing exciting had happened in Gwen's life since Arthur had asked her to move in with him—that is, the day they had moved out of Uther's house four years ago, when he was twenty and she was eighteen.

Now, trepidation was delightfully filling her heart as she watched Merlin enter the house, his eyes wide as he looked about him. Morgana followed in behind him, looking a lot more wary and staying close to who Gwen assumed to be her brother. They were both pretty similar. Arthur was the last to enter, as he shut and locked the door behind him.

"Maybe if you could set them up some beds, Guinevere?" he suggested, as he walked into the living room and dropped onto the sofa.

"Right," she murmured, shooting her boyfriend a look which clearly told him that she'd be pestering him with questions—as she had every right to—the moment she had successfully housed their two...guests.

Gwen turned and began to head upstairs for the spare room. Morgana followed her automatically, but Merlin moved towards the living room instead, poking his head round the door.

In an instant, Arthur sensed him walk into the room and twisted his head to see the boy hovering awkwardly just inside the door.

"Go upstairs," Arthur told him, before looking away again. Damn, he needed another drink. But something stronger than water this time.

"No." It was more of a squeak than a proper response, and Arthur raised his eyebrows as he wearily faced the boy _again_.

"No?" he repeated, slowly.

Merlin shuffled anxiously, hands fluttering nervously by his sides. There was no other way to describe his behaviour but _jittery_. "I...I don't think I can." His voice still had that harsh edge to it, but it was so low that it almost sounded soft. Arthur stared at him, confused, before Merlin stumbled, his knees suddenly giving way.

Within moments, Arthur was by his side, bending over to pull him back to his feet. He cringed as he touched the dirty, ragged clothing, and then shuddered at the icy feel of Merlin's skin beneath. That wasn't to mention the smell of him, for the boy _stank_ of sweat, grime and poverty. Arthur turned his head away in disgust, breathing through his mouth.

"Sorry," Merlin mumbled, and Arthur braved looking at his face long enough to see it flush: a red glow spreading up from his chest, beneath his shirt. Arthur wondered how he had enough blood in his body to produce such a rosy blush, for the boy was so pale and looked so drained.

"Get up then," Arthur gritted through his teeth, and Merlin scowled before struggling to straighten his legs.

"I'm _hungry_ ," he complained, when he was upright once more.

Arthur noted how he leant heavily against the wall, his long fingers scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth wall paper. He was panting slightly, and a sheen of sweat covered his face.

"You're ill." Arthur told him.

Merlin cast him a scathing look. "Have you seen the weather lately, Arthur?"

Affronted, Arthur folded his arms defensively over his chest. He didn't appreciate Merlin using his first name like that, as if they had known each other for longer than a few minutes. He also didn't like the way Merlin was somehow looking down on _him_ —like _he_ was the one who hadn't enough money for shelter, and had come stumbling along without any shoes on.

"Go upstairs," he repeated, firmly.

Merlin winced. "I _can't_ ," he said, sounding more and more like a petulant child, "I'm _hungry_ and my _feet don't work_."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and at the same time got a proper look at Merlin's feet. They really didn't look too great: they still had that chilled, greyish tinge, and he seemed to be having trouble moving his toes.

Upon seeing this, the blonde exhaled slowly, placing a hand over his forehead. "Fine, just...just sit in the armchair over there," he sighed, gesturing to Gwen's chair. "I'll get you something to eat and then...well, we'll figure out how to get you up in a moment."

Merlin began to shuffle awkwardly across the room, and Arthur closed his eyes in resignation.

It was going to be a very, _very_ long night.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Merlin was a...difficult little boy. It wasn't that he was rude or untoward or even slightly impolite—it was just that he was extremely defensive of _everything_. He would wrap his arms tightly around himself whenever someone took a step towards him, and if anyone mentioned _magic_ his eyes would flash dangerously with just a hint of fear circling in their ocean-like depths.

Gaius got the feeling that, once, he had been the opposite of this shy child. He broke into a smile readily enough, but it rarely ever reached his eyes. It was like the boy always expected someone to jump out of the shadows and seize him. Still, when they first met, Gaius did his best to make him comfortable, sitting him down carefully and washing his face with a soft cloth. Underneath all the dirt, he was a sweet looking thing: all big ears and wide eyes.

"He has magic, Gaius," Morgana had told him, and at once Merlin jerked away from the old man, shooting Morgana a hateful glare and almost falling off the bed.

It had taken several minutes to calm him down and to convince him that neither of them was there to hand him over to the Authorities. Within another half hour, he was curled up on the mattress fast asleep.

Then Morgana took the opportunity to explain how his friend had been taken and how she felt sorry for him.

"I want to keep him, Gaius," she'd told him earnestly, her eyes alight with determination. "He's just like me."

Gaius had sighed heavily. "In appearance maybe but, Morgana, you know nothing about him."

"I don't care," she replied firmly, "I _found_ him."

At this, Gaius frowned. "He's a person, Morgana, not an object. You can't just pick people up and—"

"That's what you did to me," she interrupted in a sulky voice, her arms folded.

"That was different. You were entrusted to me."

"Well, who else has he got?" Morgana cried, frustrated. "There's no one else, Gaius. I'm not ever letting him go— _ever_."

Gaius looked at the stubborn girl and then at the sleeping boy.

"Maybe I was _meant_ to find him," Morgana murmured contemplatively, "maybe it was destiny."

Gaius got to his feet and moved to her side, gently putting an arm around her. "Maybe," he allowed. The truth was, though, that however much Gaius might have believed in fate, he had felt Merlin's power whilst tending to him.

It led the old physician to believe that Merlin could be destined for someone else entirely. However, he said nothing of it to Morgana.

***

Gwen glanced behind her once as she headed up the stairs then quickly away again. Morgana's footsteps behind her were soft with trepidation.

"We have one spare room," Gwen began, trying for normal and hoping that her voice didn't betray too much of her uncertainty. "It shouldn't take long to set up a few beds for you both, and then we can get your brother up here and—"

"He's not my brother." Morgana cut across her, nostrils flaring, but refused to meet Gwen's eyes when the other girl turned to look at her. Instead she continued, "Is this it?" and reached past her host, placing pale fingers over the handle of the nearest door. Gwen nodded, and didn't protest when Morgana pressed down, and it clicked open.

The room was small and it already had a single bed inside, beneath a window which was shut tight and moist with condensation. The whole house was warm, Morgana realised, as she took a step inside and looked about her. There was a white desk with a chair pushed beneath it and a computer on top. The walls were painted light blue, and the bookshelf was plastered with pictures from magazines so you couldn't see its colour at all. On each shelf were rows of books and stacks of newspapers. _Merlin would like those_ , she thought. He couldn't read, but he'd always had a fondness for pictures.

She moved towards the shelves and ran her fingers over the spines of some of the thickest volumes.

"You like to read?" Gwen asked softly, and Morgana jumped a little. She had forgotten she wasn't alone, and it showed on her face when she spun around with narrowed eyes.

"Yes," she replied after a moment, and Gwen let out a long sigh.

"Well... help yourself to those. I've read everything there—not much else to do..." she trailed off and coughed a little. "I'll fetch blankets for the other bed."

Morgana nodded, her chest feeling slightly constricted then watched as Gwen backed out of the room, leaving her in silence. When the latter was finally out of sight, she stumbled to the bed and sat on the edge to stare down at her hands as it finally truly hit her:

_She was in Arthur Pendragon's house._

"Fuck."

***

Arthur's hands were shaking as he flung open the fridge and pulled out the tub of butter in addition to a block of cheese. He cursed under his breath later when the bread knife slipped through his fingers, the jagged edge catching on the pad of his thumb. He stared with incomprehension as blood seeped from the wound and only had enough sense to jerk it back and run it under the tap before he bled all over the food—the food which he was preparing for _Merlin_. He shook his head and watched as the water ran red before swirling down the plug hole.

The blonde stood there for a few seconds, his hand slowly going numb, and then set about slapping the cheese in between slices of thick brown bread, smothering it all with butter the way he saw Gwen do it for him sometimes: the way he liked it. Once he was finished, he went back to the fridge for orange juice, although he didn't doubt that the boy could probably do with something a bit stronger. He wasn't about to waste good drink on a lad who looked like he might drop dead at any second anyway.

The moment he thought that, Arthur admonished himself for it: no one was dying in this house.

Once the meal was set on a tray, and Arthur was feeling rather proud of himself, he bullied his way back into the living room and forced the door open with his shoulder.

"Here you are then—" he began but pulled up short at the sight of Merlin, snuggled deep in Gwen's chair and fast asleep.

He sighed heavily, his free hand coming up to massage his eyelids, behind which an ache was starting. "Guinevere," he called, trying not to be any louder than necessary, when Merlin murmured something in his sleep, his neck twisting to bury his face further into the upholstery.

Arthur winced slightly at the grimy smear he was already leaving on the material. He stood frozen for a few minutes then sighed heavily when it appeared that his girlfriend wasn't about to come and help him. "What am I going to do with you?" he addressed the sleeping boy, putting the tray down on the glass coffee table in the centre of the room.

For a minute or so, he contemplated his predicament before he finally shrugged, flexing a few muscles in his shoulder and back, and crouched down to brace one arm behind Merlin's back before hooking the other beneath his knees.

He wasn't heavy, Arthur realised as he straightened up with ease, cradling the boy in his arms.

"I got you," he murmured, shifting slightly so that Merlin's elbow wasn't digging quite so painfully into his ribs. As he did, the material of Merlin's ragged jacket was tugged from over his thin chest. Arthur frowned, his grip tightening over Merlin's limbs, as his eyes lit upon the boy's inside pocket, which was crudely sewn, leading Arthur to believe that Merlin had done it himself. It appeared to be stuffed with pieces of paper, one of which had been dislodged, so that it was sticking out.

Arthur was astonished to find himself staring at a tiny photograph of his own face.

***

Merlin had lived with Morgana for a month, and with each passing day he opened up a little more, showing her something else he could do.

His magic had been an endless source of entertainment for the both of them, and Morgana revelled in seeing it as much as Merlin enjoyed revealing it. Of course, Gaius reprimanded them, often telling them sternly to be careful, but it never stopped them. They both knew the price of being caught, Merlin more so than most after posters had gone up to advertise his best friend's execution, but it only made them resolve to keep on going: to fight back.

"Look," Merlin whispered as they sat opposite each other on Morgana's floor with their knees touching and his hand outstretched. In his palm danced a small, flickering flame that emitted no warmth. Merlin used his free hand to grasp Morgana's wrist and drag it to the fire "it won't hurt you," he promised.

Morgana hesitated, her breaths coming out short and fast in her excitement, before letting her fingers linger in the flame's very centre, brushing over the blue and mingling with the red. After a moment, she lifted her eyes from the burning cold and locked her gaze with Merlin's. "It's amazing," she told him, and his face split with a wide grin—dazzling blue eyes reduced to slivers of happiness, framed with lines in his skin that were forced there by his lips that endlessly pushed upwards. Merlin had the most infectious smile of anyone Morgana knew, and she giggled before shoving him gently in the chest until they were both laughing and pushing at each other, long after the flame had gone out and been forgotten.

Then Merlin crawled up onto the bed, yawning widely and setting bony elbows on the rotting wooden windowsill to stare out at the city. Morgana clambered up beside him to wrap an arm around his middle and tugged him close so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. He sniffed a little and rubbed his eyes.

"Are we gonna be here forever, Morgana?" he asked softly, gazing out at nothing in particular. He felt the girl shrug.

"I don't know," she whispered, watching as Merlin brought a hand up and pressed it over his chest. He did that often, a little habit he had, whenever he felt sad. "What's that?" She ran a finger over the back of his hand, and he flinched away from her, curling up at the foot of the bed as his eyelids grew heavy.

"Nothing," he murmured, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'm tired."

"Merlin." She tugged at his arms, dragging them away from his chest. "Tell me."

"No, get off me." He struggled with her, pulling until he tumbled from the bed and found himself sprawled on the floor.

Morgana gasped and leaned over the edge. "Are you okay?" She reached down for him, but he scrambled away, frowning.

"Leave me alone." Merlin swallowed and moodily turned his back on her.

She watched him for a moment then raised a hand. This spell was one of the first she had ever learned: a calling spell, which she uttered softly before feeling the friendly glow in her irises and then the almost overpowering satisfaction as she watched Merlin's jacket pull itself from his body and float over to where she sat.

"Hey!" Merlin scrambled to his feet, flushing angrily. "That's mine! Give it back!"

Morgana hesitated, hands clutching tightly to the material as she became wary of Merlin casting his own spell to retrieve the jacket. "Just let me see," she insisted, moving further away from him and digging long fingers into the inside pocket over where Merlin's heart would have been if he was still wearing it.

Merlin's eyes went very round and he was biting hard into his bottom lip as he watched Morgana's jaw drop.

"What..." she murmured as she let pieces of paper flutter between her fingers, each bearing a different picture of the same boy: a boy she'd recognise anywhere—hell, he was practically the face representing _everyone_ who had ever tried to hurt her:

Uther Pendragon's son.

Merlin was immediately moving forwards, climbing onto the bed and gathering up the many newspaper cuttings. "Told you not to look," he mumbled, reaching out to take back his jacket.

Morgana, however, made no move to let it go.

"Morgana," Merlin whined, and there was an edge in his voice which threatened tears.

"Why have you got these?" she asked, and there was an echo to her tone: a distance that made Merlin nervous.

"He's always been there," he told her, then sniffed as his hand moved up to rub at his eyes and nose.

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" Morgana's voice was shrill, and Merlin watched as one of the pictures in her hand started to rip where her fingers pressed against it.

"Stop," he begged, crawling closer. "Please, Morgana! They're just pictures."

Morgana stared at him and down at her tightly closed fist. A moment passed where the moonlight battled on through the grime on the window, and Arthur's hair glowed shiny and gold on the scraps of photographic paper. Then she opened her hand, and the picture fluttered free.

Merlin snatched it up immediately before pulling his jacket from her arms and shrugging it on to stuff the pictures back into the inside pocket.

The two of them didn't usually sleep head to toe. Usually Morgana's arms would be wrapped around Merlin's waist, securing him to her. Sometimes, having him there helped calm the nightmares which clouded her mind when it came to those dark hours in the morning. That night though, Morgana slid into the bed at one end and Merlin the other.

"He has everything," Merlin whispered, just as Morgana's eyelids were beginning to slide shut. "He could save us all, if he wanted." And he yawned widely. "One day, maybe he will."

Then they both fell asleep, slipping and sliding into uneasy dreams.

***

The moon was out, full and heavy in the black sky. Down in the streets, two men whispered to each other, crouching behind a cage. Earlier that day, they'd been yelled at for not bringing anyone in. It had been a week since they had successfully captured any real sorcerers—a week of not getting paid and of listening to their empty stomachs growling.

Now they were chasing a cat.

"It went that way, I saw it," the first man, the elder out of the two, whispered. His features were sharp and pointed, almost like that of a rat's.

The second man, on the other hand, was ever so slightly broader, with similar features and hair that hung dank and limp down to his shoulders. He squinted in the direction his partner was pointing in.

It was very dark. The streetlights in this part of town had long since stopped working, and it appeared that no one had ever thought to replace or repair them.

"Yeah," the second man breathed, his icy fingers closing around a bar of the cage before him. He used it to heave himself to his feet, catching the first man's sleeve as he rose and dragging him along.

"You gonna run?"

"Shhh."

The first man's name was Bren, and the second was his younger brother, Bret. Bren was the smarter out of the two and the uglier. His thin chest rose and fell in a ragged case around his stone heart. Bret watched him intently, awaiting instruction with eyes bright and wet.

"I'll go first," Bren hissed softly, licking his teeth and smoothly drawing a knife out from up his sleeve. It glinted in the moonlight.

Bret stood aside to let his older brother slip past, his feet barely making a sound on the cobbles and his head tossing from side to side as he looked out for the little animal that they were hunting. He curled his toes inside his too tight shoes, his uncut nails scraping against the inside and bleeding dry blood. His breath was short and rough, twisting through the frozen air. Everything was all too solid and all too silent. A few feet ahead, pressed against the wall of a huge block of flats, was the black cat, her eyes slivers of yellow.

Bren crouched low as he walked, trying to ignore the ache in his belly. He'd like to say that it was hard to remember when he'd last been this hungry, but it would be a lie. The _truth_ would be that he couldn't remember when he'd last been full. That was why he had no quails about what he did. A few months ago and it had been a little boy: Bren had watched as his eyes flashed gold before his knife had been through the child's leg within seconds.

Now he squinted through the darkness, wondering whether his brother could still hear the boy's screams...after all, it had been Bret who had carried him all the way to the court houses, wailing and sobbing, blood soaking through his trousers, onto Bret's shirt...

A subtle movement to his left.

A flicker of grey shadow against grey wall.

Bren's eyes darted, liquid storms focussing on the black.

The black of hair. The black of leather.

 _I've got you_.

He slithered forwards, shoulders hunched and hair swinging, then lifted a skinny finger to gesture over his shoulder at Bret, telling him that he'd finally found her.

Not long after that, air suddenly seemed in short supply. The two men were already absorbed in the hunt, senses seemingly heightened now that their prey was in sight. In the next couple of seconds, the only sounds were of the dirty wind, whistling over their heads and around them.

For a moment, Bren wondered whether they'd get more out of selling the skinny little beast to some starving child rather than to the Authorities, but then he sprang forwards, lithe with his trusty knife clutched in his fist.

So quick... he was _infamous_ for the speed at which he sliced and cut, and yet he still missed. His blade pierced air as the animal hissed and jumped backwards, her leather wings unfurling from her back, spanning several times the length of her body, and soon beating up and down as she turned tail and careered away.

The curses of Bren, as he screamed and turned to beat his brother bloody in his anger, followed her up into the sky.

***

How Morgana, Merlin and Freya ended up together is a story of its own. On the other hand, how Morgana had been forced to drag Merlin from their home in Ealdor, sobbing as he twisted desperately, screaming for Gaius as strange men knocked down doors and made arrests left and right, is a whole other tale much too harrowing to even be told _._

The next day, Morgana had read in the newspaper that Gaius had been arrested for housing magic users and that the Authorities had been tipped off by one of his residents.

"He took care of them," she'd all but shouted furiously, her eyes shining.

Merlin just sat huddled beside her with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. "Maybe he'll escape," he whispered, peeking up at Morgana, "maybe they'll let him go."

"They'll kill him, Merlin," she spat down at him, unable to control the bitterness at the back of her throat, "and it's probably our fault."

Merlin didn't try to contradict her and simply let the knowledge that he had once again, allowed someone else to die for him, settle at the back of his mind.

They had been outside of Ealdor for three days, and he was already beginning to revert back to his old ways, feeling instincts, which had been nurtured through his time living with Will, begin to return.

"Where did you get this?" Morgana would ask, her tone coloured with suspicion when Merlin threw a packet of crisps or a chocolate bar at her head. But he would only shrug and snuggle up beside her.

Eventually, she'd just sigh and pull him close, dropping a kiss to the top of his dark head before she'd rip off the packet of whatever food Merlin had managed to steal, _knowing_ he'd stolen it, and devour it within moments.

"We should rescue Gaius," Merlin would say almost every night, seconds before he fell asleep. Morgana would murmur softly in agreement, and then they'd both drift off, confined in the comfort of each other's arms.

It was after a few weeks when Merlin had gone out to 'pick up dinner', and Morgana was waiting for him, standing anxiously by the gates of the deserted play park in which they were residing. There they had slept, curled up in the tunnels, which had once been built for a child's entertainment rather than a child's home.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and her hair billowed out behind her like a ragged black flag in the cold air. Then when her teeth were beginning to chatter, and she was on the verge of stamping her feet to bring some feeling back to them, she saw him. There was a cut on his lip, which bled freely, leaving a line of crimson over his chin and neck, and in his arms was a dark bundle.

Morgana had stumbled forwards with a cry, reaching out for him. "M-Merlin, are you—"

He'd already collapsed against her before she had finished stammering out her question, and he was trembling slightly when she gently pushed him off her so she could crouch down and examine his lip.

"How d-did this happen, Merlin?" she'd asked, reaching forwards and dabbing at the cut with the tip of a long finger.

"She didn't mean to, I promise," was the only reply she got, and she frowned, before Merlin held out the bundle.

Morgana stared, her wide eyes acting like mirrors to the small, leather winged cat.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

It was another cold night, and Freya was quaking slightly as she leant, pressed up against Merlin's side. Time had gotten away from them, and they were all unsure as to how long their lives had become broken up into so many pieces. Merlin liked to think that each piece had a name, and he let them run through his mind as his small hands stroked through Freya's hair.

His mother, Hunith. Will. Arthur. Morgana. Gaius. Freya.

Out of all of them two were dead, one was missing, one was barely human and, another was hardly real, apart from in worn out photographs.

Morgana looked over the top of Freya's head, squinting across the road and through a shop window. They slept here because, through the window, you could just about see the clock that hung on the wall of the shop. Time had gotten away, but watching each hour tick by didn't make any of them feel like they were catching up with it. On the contrary, with every passing moment Merlin felt as if he was being left behind. Beside him, Freya shifted, emitting a soft moan as she turned to bury her face in his neck.

When they had taken in the small cat all those months ago, they had of course known that it wasn't ordinary—of course known that it was _magical_. But in a million years they couldn't have guessed that the next morning they would wake to find a small naked child, curled up between them and practically blue from cold.

"Your name, _what's your name_?" Merlin could remember asking her frantically in an effort to keep her conscious as Morgana wrapped her in a cardigan.

"Freya," she'd whispered, sighing as material enveloped her.

Every night she would change—every night of the month, apart from on those few when the moon was black and new and invisible.

"Nine," Morgana mouthed to Merlin, and he nodded wearily. They had three hours then, before the girl next to him would twist and shatter the air with screams as wings tore through the pale skin on her back, and claws cut their way from her knuckles.

For a few minutes there was silence, and Merlin let his cheek rest against the top of Freya's head, his eyelids drifting shut, before a sudden curse caused him to jerk and dislodge Freya from his shoulder. Morgana was on her feet in an instant, a hand held out behind her as a warning for the other two not to move. However, Merlin rarely heeded Morgana's warnings and he got to his feet, helping up Freya as she did too.

Her expression was slightly disoriented, and Merlin murmured a soft apology for waking her. Then he turned to Morgana.

"Who was it?" he asked, pressing instinctively closer.

"I think..." she trailed off, nodding towards a side street which they could easily see down. Merlin bit his lip uncertainly, wondering if they were under any real threat or if they could just go back to sleep...or Freya could go back to sleep while the other two sat still, staring at a clock face.

"Come on." Morgana took hold of Merlin's wrist and slipped her hand into Freya's before tugging them both along with her, down the street.

"Morgana..." Merlin bumped shoulders with her as they walked, and she could practically feel the defensiveness and suspicion rolling off him as he glanced around, magic on tenterhooks.

"I just want to see," she told him, and they continued to venture. The same voice that had sworn before continued now, and loudly. The racket was seeping out of one the front doors along the road, which was ajar. A shaft of light spilled out onto the pavement, and all three children stood there, staring at it gathering on the floor.

"Come on." Morgana gave another pull on their arms, and then they were stumbling through the door into the house.

After that, it was Gwaine and the yelling and the promises and the general confusion that came with being totally vulnerable one minute and cared for the next.

They'd all crowded into his little dingy spare room, collapsing onto thin mattresses which were nevertheless comfier than anything they'd experienced for a long time and, in Freya's case, _ever_. She'd settled in the middle, and Morgana dropped a kiss to her forehead before she'd done Merlin's, reminding the other girl that it was only ten and that she should sleep while she could.

***

"Gwaine said you were the best."

This time, the man's name was Cedric, and his hands were already on Merlin's waist when he spoke, his thumb nails digging into the skin over his hipbones.

In response, Merlin smirked with a look he'd perfected after living with Morgana for over five years. "Well, Gwaine would know," he allowed, momentarily thinking back to when Gwaine had kissed him for the first time. Nerves had been running high, and the tension had been palpable, especially with Morgana watching from across the room.

There was a moment when Cedric seemed to deliberate, and then he released his hold on Merlin to dig a wallet out of his pocket. Merlin watched the movement of his hands, eyes flicking over the short nails—

 _Good_.

—which nonetheless had a faint line of grey beneath them.

 _Bad_.

Then the man was thumbing through the contents of his wallet, and Merlin felt his face burn. This was always the worst part. The part where he watched his...clients decide how much he was worth.

He didn't bother trying to count the money when Cedric set it down on a small wooden table by the bed and instead opted to surge forwards, his fingers at the buttons on the other man's jeans. He was panting at the first touch, and his pupils blew wide when Merlin slowly sank to the floor in front of him.

 _It was always the same_ , Merlin thought dully, as he flicked his tongue lightly over the head of Cedric's dick before proceeding to take him as deep as possible without warning.

Cedric had blonde hair and blue eyes.

Cedric was, supposedly, Merlin's preferred type.

He had to fight not to roll his eyes when he remembered how this conclusion had been drawn: ironic, that the man he had always secretly referred to as some kind of guardian angel ended up being the template for all the people he would ever drop to his knees for.

_Arthur Pendragon..._

Merlin let the name roll to the very tip of his tongue, enjoying the taste of it before he dragged it back at the same moment as he pulled away from Cedric, who came hard and stripped him from forehead to collar bone with sticky heat.

He still didn't count the cash after he snatched it up off the counter and shoved it deep into his pocket.

Cedric opened his mouth as Merlin swung his bag over his shoulder, his eyes raking over Merlin's face, still laced with cum and then down to the front of his jeans.

"Sorry," Merlin ran a tongue over his lip, eyes bright. "It's extra to watch." Then he headed out the front door before breaking into a jog, flattening a hand over his face to wipe away some of the filth in disgust.

The moment he was out of sight and down an empty alleyway, his hand was down the front of his trousers, and he was quickly bringing himself off, filled with confidence that by holding back this time he had secured a customer who would no doubt return for more.

It took a second to get his breath back, his head leaning against the wall behind him. Then he touched a hand to the top pocket of his shirt and moved away, heading for home.

***

Morgana and Gwaine were talking quietly at the kitchen table when Merlin shouldered his way into the house. They both looked up quickly, and Merlin raised his hands in apology when he spotted Freya dozing in the corner.

Morgana got to her feet and moved over to him, and for a moment he let her cup his face in a slender hand. He was slightly taller than her, such that she had to pull his head down to look at him properly. She did this almost every time he came home, and he was much the same whenever she stumbled through the front door with her hair in a mess and her lips a bitten red. He smiled at her before pushing her hand away lightly and dropping his bag, which held only a spare set of clothes, on the floor. Then he walked over to Gwaine and pulled up a chair.

Gwaine hadn't changed much since three wayward and magical children had forced their way into his life five years ago. His good looks and humour still remained very much intact, and he flicked his hair slightly so it didn't hang over his eyes when he looked at Merlin. Also, he hadn't lost any of the original fight that he'd had back then. If anything, his determination for justice or revenge, or whatever it was he had been looking for since deciding to go against Aredian and Uther, had been fuelled by their arrival.

 _He really had tried,_ Merlin thought begrudgingly, unable to stop from grinning when he'd handed over Cedric's money and received a light hearted punch to the shoulder for his trouble. Gwaine had _tried_ to do the best for all of them, but the guy was a drunk and a rebel, and in the end, no one would have been able to turn Merlin, Morgana or Freya into reasonable candidates for school or work with money hanging over their heads in the form of 'wanted' posters rather than resting securely in bank accounts.

Still, it appeared that although the Authorities would never have even considered letting Merlin learn how to read, they had no problem with hiring the fifteen year old out for a good fuck when it suited them. As the thought flashed violently across Merlin's mind, his fists clenched slightly where they rested on the tabletop.

Gwaine caught the movement, and his lips downturned. No one had any doubt that he'd felt worst about the situation. He had told Morgana when she was fifteen, and they had spent the last week watching the death toll in the newspapers rise. As time passed, Freya grew, and food became scarcer because there simply wasn't any money, and there were very few options left open to them, if they all wanted to stick together.

At the time, Gwaine's job as a barman had paid even less than it did now, and he was barely able to feed himself, let alone his new roommates. Morgana hadn't even really thought about what she was doing when she agreed—hadn't considered past the possibility of losing the people she had come to call 'family' when she took the first step to selling herself away. It had terrified Gwaine, the willingness with which she nodded her assent.

But then the cupboards had slowly started to fill, and no one had the right to complain: not when they no longer had to sooth a little girl every time she woke up to find dried blood under her nails and the tangy taste of it left in her mouth.

Merlin knew where the money was coming from, of course. He wasn't stupid and besides, he'd been the one to cradle Morgana in his arms when she came home the first time, limping and with red rimmed eyes. He'd been there to wipe away the makeup and then use his magic to cast shadows on the walls, making them dance to have her laugh. Afterwards, she had fallen asleep with her head in his lap about twenty minutes before Gwaine got home.

When he'd seen her, his face had paled, and his hand had clenched around the doorframe, his knuckles pearly in the dark. Then he had stumbled away to bed, his expression filled with guilt, soaked with alcohol, and saturated by the idea of defeat.

For a second, Merlin had hated him— _hated_ him for letting them down. But then he had curled around Morgana, thumb finding its way to his mouth like it hadn't in months, and remembered that Gwaine had saved them. A hand moved to his heart and pressed. Sleep took him over.

A few years later, on Merlin's fourteenth birthday, Morgana hastily pressed a kiss to his cheek before heading for the door. It wasn't that she'd _wanted_ to go, but Morgause was generous, and Morgana actually liked the woman. She didn't want to lose her.

The door was open, and she had her foot on the pavement outside before a hand caught her arm.

"I'm coming with you."

Merlin's voice was determined, and she'd turned to see the eyes of a man, staring stubbornly into hers. Something inside her stomach jolted unpleasantly, and for a second she attempted to pull away, but he only clung on tighter. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose. It was Merlin's _birthday_. She would not allow this to be her present to him.

"Not today," she sighed, eyes snapping open. Then she placed a hand over his, for a moment feeling the tension in his fingers—the unwillingness to let go—before it went slack, and she pushed it away.

"Okay," he'd whispered, "not today." And the words were laden with an unspoken promise Morgana wished she couldn't hear.

***

Arthur stared at the picture for a moment, his mouth slightly dry. It was a school photograph that had been taken when he was in year 11: sixteen years old and already wearing his father's arrogant smirk. It had been printed in the newspapers the next day along with his grades stamped underneath. Arthur had never understood why anyone would have cared which exams he managed to pass— _all_ of them, of course— or which he managed to do exceptionally well in, which was most of them, but apparently they did, and apparently _some_ _people_ liked to cut out the pictures and keep them in their pockets.

By the time Arthur reached the guest room, he had shifted Merlin over so that the photo was not in risk of fluttering to the floor. He was more than curious about what else was hidden in the boy's jacket, but there was no way to find out when the girl, Morgana, was waiting for them outside the door.

Her expression was shrewd, and she reached out instantly to take Merlin from him. Arthur frowned. "Are you sure you—"

"I carried him to your doorstep, Mr Pendragon. I can get him to the bed," she spoke tersely, cutting across him with narrowed eyes, and arms still outstretched. There was a moment of tense silence before Arthur awkwardly manoeuvred the gangly teenager over to Morgana, whose knees bent ever so slightly before she straightened up again with Merlin's head resting against her shoulder.

Morgana must have spotted the piece of paper then, resting on Merlin's shirt. Her eyes flicked from it to Arthur's face, and she looked like she was on the verge of telling him something. But then she stopped, took a quick breath, and said, "He won't be needing that now he's got the real thing."

Her words caused the paper to move and slide from his chest, promtpting Arthur to reach out and snatch it from the air.

"Well..." he began, free hand moving to rub at the back of his neck. "Sleep well...and let us know if you need anything." He gestured vaguely behind him, to where his and Gwen's bedroom was.

"Bathroom?"

She'd blurted out the word and then frowned as though she'd wondered where the outburst had come from.

Arthur blinked, slightly taken aback, and then pointed. "Just over there."

Morgana nodded, shifting from foot to foot. "Right."

Thankfully at that point, Gwen came wandering to Arthur's side and placed a hand on his arm, smiling softly at the sight of Merlin asleep.

Then Arthur murmured a belated "good night" and allowed himself to be steered back to bed.

Morgana stood and watched the pair of them disappear into their room before backing into her own. She set Merlin down gently and rolled the heavy duvet up to his chin. He smiled softly when she ran her fingers through his hair before she left for the bathroom.

***

Arthur slid into bed beside Gwen, closing his eyes as he felt her gravitate towards him and move her hand to rest on his, now bare, chest. After a few moments, he felt her feet move to press against his leg and sucked in a breath.

"Cold," he murmured, and she pressed harder, her smile muffled in his shoulder when he huffed out a laugh.

"Who do you think they are?" she asked after a moment, and he cracked open an eye to look down at her. She wasn't looking at his face but was instead focussing on her own hand, which was tracing patterns over his skin.

Arthur thought for a minute. "I don't know. People from over the Wall."

"Well, _obviously_ ," Gwen agreed, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "But, Arthur. People don't just...they don't just take a trip over the Wall. And, even if they did, why would they come _here_?"

"You mean," Arthur said slowly, "why would they come to me?"

She sounded almost apologetic when she spoke next. "Yes. Your father..."

"I'm not my father," Arthur gritted out, firmly, and Gwen squeezed his fingers.

"I know you're not. But how can _they_ know that?"

"I don't know," Arthur sighed and twisted his neck to look at his bedside table, where he had dropped the photo of himself.

"Do you...do you think they're _magic_?"

Arthur didn't need to look to know that Gwen's eyes were gleaming with curiosity. He considered the question for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "The girl, maybe," he conceded, thinking of Morgana's defensiveness and darting eyes. "But the boy... _Merlin_ ," he continued as he reached out a hand to let his fingers brush briefly over the photograph, "No."

***

Arthur woke before Gwen did, the same as every other Saturday, because his body clock refused to switch off even when he didn't have to get up for work and regardless of whether he'd spent the night introducing two vagabonds into his home.

" _Vagabonds_ ," he muttered, almost in disbelief, shaking his head as he detached himself from his girlfriend, stretched, and headed downstairs.

His plan had been to try and have breakfast in peace before finding some kind of excuse that would allow him to get out of the house for the day. He hadn't been lying the day before when he'd told Gwen he thought Morgana might be magic. Living with his father and overhearing numerous conversations between him and various colleagues had taught Arthur that most people from over The Wall were sorcerers. In fact, even if he _hadn't_ grown up in such an environment, it was common knowledge that Camelot was divided for a reason: to keep the pure safe. It had never been a concept that had made sense in Arthur's mind...and surely you weren't doing anyone a favour by putting all the most dangerous people in the city, perhaps in the _country_ , in one place.

Merlin though...Arthur couldn't imagine any sorcerer carrying a picture of him around in their pocket unless they wanted to remember his face, so that one day they might kill him. Something told Arthur that that was not the boy's intent, and besides: Merlin didn't _look_ like someone with magic. There was nothing malicious about that wide, goofy smile and nothing powerful in the awkward way he held himself. Arthur just couldn't see it.

Anyway, quite frankly, he didn't want to be around when his guests somehow drew attention to themselves and had to be carted away by the Authorities. Because that would undoubtedly happen very soon...preferably before his conscience either caused him to hand over the urchins himself or become stupidly attached to the pair of them.

All these thoughts had run through Arthur's head twice by the time he was pulled up short at the entrance to his kitchen by a display that gave him the urge to laugh and then bang his head off the nearest surface.

Somehow the boy, Merlin, must have dragged himself downstairs, still looking absolutely filthy and wearing the same clothes as last night—though Arthur had been quite _sure_ Gwen had given them both old sets of pyjamas. He was now sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by cereal boxes. One box had been opened, and Arthur had to pick his way through its spilt contents, wincing every time he crushed a sugared square into the floor and thought about how long it would take to clean up.

As he got closer, the boy looked up and with his bottom lip sticking out slightly in a pout, he was doing a great job of personifying 'pathetic'.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and after a moment Merlin seemed to suck in his lip and offer up a hopeful smile instead.

"Get up," Arthur sighed.

After a long second where it looked like Merlin wouldn't be able to, he placed his hands flat on the floor either side of him and pushed weakly to try and raise himself up. Then Arthur finally took some pity on him and dragged him to his feet.

"If you can't even stand up by yourself, how on earth did you get downstairs? And when you realised you were capable of moving this morning, why wasn't your first step towards the _bathroom_?" Arthur held Merlin at arm's length as he spoke, nose scrunched up in disgust.

The blush which he had caught a glimpse of yesterday—again, when he had been talking about his appearance—started to edge its way up Merlin's neck before pooling across his pale face. "Still hungry," he murmured after a moment, his arms hanging limply by his sides.

Arthur's mouth fell open for a second, before he managed to twist it into the right shape, and whispered, "Oh," then continued, in a clearer tone:

"Well, if you eat with those hands you'll catch some kind of disease, so sit there." And with that, he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table before steering Merlin into it with firm hands.

Merlin watched as Arthur pulled a deep plastic bowl from the cupboard under the sink, and then ran the tap until steam was rising and clinging to every available surface. After that, the bowl was filled up with the hot water and a splash of washing up liquid and placed carefully in front of Merlin, who still hadn't looked away from Arthur's face. He wondered if Arthur might be more inclined to fuck him if he'd washed first.

By the way he was being glared at now, he decided that was almost definitely the case...although even if Arthur might have preferred to fuck someone who wasn't practically crawling with dirt, it didn't mean he'd ever want Merlin—not when he had Gwen upstairs and a face like that.

Merlin struggled for a second because this was _Arthur_ , and you couldn't just say anything in front of a man who you had been obsessed with since you were eight—who you had imagined to be kissing you and running his hands all over you since you lost your virginity at fourteen.

Who had the power to send you to the gallows with a single word from his chapped, pretty pink lips.

You couldn't just say _anything_ because if you'd seen what Merlin had in his short life, you'd know that the wrong thing could mean the difference between empty and full, alone and complete, discontent and blissfully satisfied.

"Once I clean up..." he murmured tentatively, shyly lowering his eyes to his feet. "...will you fuck me?"

And Arthur's eyes widened, water dripping from his fingertips and hitting the kitchen floor.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Morgause had been married for four years when Morgana had met her for the first time. Morgana hadn't cared though—it hadn't been her place to care anyway, just as long as she got paid at the end of the day.

"Here," Morgause had told her, pressing a key to the front door into her hand, after their first night together. In response, Morgana had stared down at the little shaped piece of black metal with her mouth hanging open in shock.

"What—" she'd begun, half offering it back in her uncertainty only to be met by a smirk.

"You're different," Morgause chuckled then leant forwards to press a hot kiss to Morgana's mouth, making the younger girl part her lips and moan ever so softly. _"And I trust you."_ The words were a whisper as they parted before Morgana was steered from the house and gently pushed back out onto the street.

Morgana had asked Gwaine about it when she got home, placing the key delicately on the table between them.

"She said she trusted me," Morgana had told him as he'd examined the key, curiously turning it in his fingers.

"I'm sure," he'd replied in a careful tone, "but I wouldn't trust her, if I were you."

"Why not?" Morgana reached over and tugged the key back from Gwaine's grip with a scowl. "She seemed nice enough."

"Just because she's hot, doesn't make her a good person," Gwaine sighed, meeting her gaze with a doubtful expression.

At this, Morgana blushed and got to her feet. "I _know_ , but—"

"Morgana, I know Morgause," he abruptly cut in, "I wouldn't have sent you to her if I didn't."

"So?" Morgana's tone was almost sulky, almost...jealous? Gwaine cast her an incredulous look when a second later, she confirmed his suspicion. "I bet she's never had sex with _you_."

"You're right," he'd answered slowly after a moment, "but that's not quite what I was getting at. Sit down." In that instant, he'd grabbed himself a warm beer from a box on the floor by his feet and began to chug it back as Morgana sighed and sat back down.

"What _were_ you getting at then?" she asked.

Gwaine licked his lips, considering the girl before him. "You know where I stand, where views on magic and such are concerned," he spoke carefully, and Morgana nodded because of course she did. They _all_ did. But then he gave a long sigh. "Well, Morgause is the same—"

"But surely that's _good_ ," Morgana burst out, confused because Gwaine was shaking his head.

"No, no it's not," Gwaine replied, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, it _is_ , but have you seen her husband? Well, no you haven't, of course—but he's a complete tyrant. It's insane. He's an _idiot_." At that point, his lips curled in contempt as he spoke. "And all he wants is to rule. Mind you, that's all Morgause wants, too. She's determined to have someone with magic sitting where Uther sits now."

"That's what I want too," she shot back, staring back at Gwaine intently. "I thought that's what we all wanted!"

"Yes, but Morgana," he took a deep breath, trying to speak to her in a more careful tone. "She wants someone with magic to be _exactly_ where Uther is—on the other side of the Wall, which won't be going anywhere. If Morgause and fucking _Cenred_ had their way, the divide in Camelot would be stronger than ever, except we'd all be switching sides."

"Oh." Morgana leant back in her chair, thoughtfully, before saying, "well, they'd deserve it."

Gwaine just shook his head and yawned, finishing his beer and opening another.

After that, Morgana saw Morgause at least once a week, always letting herself in quietly before she'd slip downstairs until she was deep underground, where the walls were damp and stone. There Morgause would wait for her and open the bedroom door for her, leading her over to the bed.

They were the only nights Morgana actually enjoyed: when she was watching Morgause's neck glisten with sweat as her head fell back because Morgana's fingers were inside her, or when her tongue was pressing at the dark folds of skin between her legs. It was the heady smell of sex, coupled with the scent of the candles which were lit less for romantic reasons than for sheer convenience—Morgana knew better than most that electricity was expensive—that made her pant with desire, face flushed and hot.

"You're perfect," Morgause had breathed once when Morgana disentangled herself from the soft, pale expanse of the other woman's thighs and ankles and arched feet and allowed herself to be tugged forwards until she was resting, cradled in Morgause's arms. "My perfect girl." And she sighed against Morgause's neck, gasping when fingers gently reached down to open her up, moving in and out with slow, measured thrusts.

_It wasn't love_ , Morgana had told herself, unable to control the way she rocked into Morgause's touch as she'd felt her cunt clench around the woman's fingers, her thoughts nearing incoherency as she'd tried to reason with herself that this was _different._ Morgana loved Merlin, and loved Freya, and loved Gwaine. What she felt for Morgause was far more animal yet far less basic, and at this point, when the only sounds were of skin hitting skin and drawn out moans, it was hard to imagine a life where she wouldn't need this—wouldn't need someone inside her to take her so thoroughly she thought she might die, or else be brought up to such dizzying heights that it would take years to drag her back.

It wasn't love, but it wasn't bad, and when Morgause tilted Morgana's face up for a kiss that was so much tenderer than demanding, she almost forgot that this wasn't home. She almost forgot every time, right up until she was nudged from the bed and set on her feet, and her money somehow found its way into her trembling hands or straight into her purse. Then she would watch as Morgause ran a hand through her blonde hair and pushed damp strands back from her forehead, looking loose and content.

"I'll see you soon," would be the promise, the signal that told Morgana it was time to nod her head, turn on her heel, and leave.

And it was like that, right up until the moment Gwaine told Merlin that his first appointment was up at the dark house—at _Morgause's_ house, and Morgana had gaped, something painful twisting in her stomach.

" _What?_ " Her startled yell had woken up Freya, who had been curled on the rug by the kitchen table and who now yawned as she stretched pliant limbs.

Merlin had looked down at her and grinned, sliding off his chair to join her and bundling her up into his arms.

"Heya," he murmured, and she'd hugged him tightly for a moment before looking sleepily up at Morgana.

"Wha's wrong?" she asked, eyes alight with concern, despite having just been dragged back from some well needed rest.

"I thought..." Morgana shook her head, swallowing, and then raising her eyes as she tried to keep any tears firmly inside. "I thought Morgause...dammit, she's gay! Why does she want _Merlin_?"

"First off..." Gwaine got to his feet to walk around the table and check on Freya, resting his hand in her hair for a moment. She practically purred and turned her face to nuzzle up into his hand. After a moment of petting, she was already drifting back off to sleep in Merlin's arms. She'd really had a very late night.

"First off," he started again, "she's _bi_ —which means, I guess, that there's not really a reason why she _wouldn't_ be into Merlin. Apart from maybe the ears..."

"Oi," Merlin cut in, lightly kicking at Gwaine's shins from where he sat on the floor.

But Gwaine stepped out of reach, grinning. "Second, you know that it's bad to get too involved with these people, right? The ones—"

"Who pay me for sex?" Morgana finished for him, "right, yeah. Because it's _easy_ not to get involved with the people you sleep with."

"Morgana," Gwaine sighed, almost pleading.

It was almost like physical pain, the thoughts that ran through his head every night: thoughts about how Uther was getting that much farther ahead every time he allowed Morgana to leave the house with a spare change of clothes, and now Merlin—fucking _Merlin,_ who was too damn sweet and funny to even be _real_ sometimes. Except really, for Gwaine it had stopped being mainly about Uther or any of the Pendragons, or even about getting rid of the bloody Wall. For Gwaine, after admitting Merlin, Morgana and Freya into his house, this whole thing had gotten a hell of a lot more personal.

And to be honest he'd be, if not _happy_ , content just living with these three people who he cared about most, away from Camelot entirely, safe and alone. Let the Wall stay up. Someone else could worry about trying to sort out this fucked up, twisted city.

But he was less than sure that this was a view his companions shared. All three of them were fighters, and even if what they did now was so far below them that it _hurt,_ they would not leave until they were certain there was nothing left to do to set everything right.

Morgana looked at Gwaine for a moment as her hard expression melted. Then she rubbed her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah I know...shouldn't get attached."

"Right," Gwaine nodded, trying to stay in control of the conversation. "Right, and _thirdly_ ," he went on, and Morgana let her hands fall in surprise. "Morgause doesn't want to see Merlin. Her husband does."

***

Merlin was used to a lot of things. He was used to being denied. Used to being made to wait until he wanted to scream. But denial wasn't always the same as a rejection, and it was hard for him now to decide which word was most apt when Arthur didn't reply, except with a roll of his eyes and a muttered, "You are quite despicable, Merlin."

At that moment, Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek and frowned at Arthur with his head cocked to the side. "Huh?" he said, wondering if he should be more offended.

But it was hard to feel offended when Arthur was lowering a cloth into the water and making stern shushing noises before crouching down and running it carefully over his face, pressing harder where the dirt seemed darker and more ingrained. Merlin had tried to insist that _he_ could do it because having Arthur so close was making his body react in stupid ways.

_Stupid,_ he thought to himself sharply.

But Arthur had just rolled his eyes some more, pointing out that Merlin hadn't even been able to successfully open a cereal box.

In the end, Merlin stopped asking, and when Arthur put one hand at the back of his head, urging him to tip it back, he did so without complaint. Soon, there was water trickling from the top of his forehead and down into matted black hair.

"God," Arthur grumbled, "it'd be easier to shear this all off."

At this, Merlin's eyes flickered open lazily, and he mumbled, "don't do that," but he had a feeling it came out a lot more unintelligible to Arthur because he'd only frowned and pressed a little harder with the cloth at the crown of his head. Merlin shivered happily in response, though he was vaguely aware that the water must have been pooling on the kitchen floor, making a mess. He wondered if Arthur would clear it up afterwards, or if he was the kind of person who got his girlfriend to do that stuff. Maybe he would get _Merlin_ to clean it. That somehow seemed a lot more likely.

"Hands," Arthur's voice broke through Merlin's pointless thoughts, and he looked at Arthur upside down, bemused. The blonde still looked just as nice at this angle, and Merlin didn't try to stop his face from scrunching up at the unfairness of life.

" _Hands_ , Merlin," Arthur sighed, exasperated, before he moved around until he was in front of Merlin and removed his grip from the back of the boy's head to pick up his hands instead.

Merlin watched as Arthur dunked them in the bowl, feeling the warm soapy water slosh around and in between his fingers. It felt nice, and he smiled widely at Arthur, which made something warm and soft uncurl in the older man's stomach before he shook his head and snatched up the cloth again to roughly scrub Merlin's hands.

"Owww," Merlin whined, even though it really felt like nothing compared to the treatment he was used to. But he liked the way Arthur reacted—how a scathing expression appeared on his face but at the same time, his touch softened. It was a kind of simple care that Merlin wasn't used to coming from anyone but Morgana, Gwaine, and Freya. Thinking about the last two people made something in Merlin's chest tighten, and for a second his shoulders hunched, and he gasped.

"Merlin?" Arthur's hands flitted up his arms, his voice uncertain. "You all right?"

Merlin sucked in a breath and smiled, uncurling. "'Course."

There was a long pause before the blonde spoke again, this time in a more detached tone. "Right. Well then." And suddenly his touch was gone entirely as he picked up the basin, and Merlin quickly removed his hands from inside. "You can wash properly later," Arthur continued, clearing his throat. "I'll show you how to use the shower...if you just clean that up." He nodded towards the puddle on the floor. "I'll get you something to eat."

_A fair exchange,_ Merlin thought as he dried his hands and face on the towel Arthur passed him and then used the same material to mop up the floor. From down here, he had a perfect view of Arthur's behind as he stretched up for the top cupboard to get out glasses and bowls.

"Finished!" he exclaimed after a moment as he started to get back up on his feet, only to fall down again with a frustrated gasp. "Fuck's sake."

At this, Arthur quickly turned round, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?" As soon as he saw the younger man on the floor, he reached down instinctively to help him up, and Merlin hesitated before taking his hands and allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. _Again_.

"Sorry," he mumbled, managing to stoop and finally pick up the wet towel without falling and give it back to a disgruntled Arthur. "I just...I need my fucking legs to work!"

"Well, you're not having trouble from lack of use, obviously," Arthur replied with a sigh as he went back to the kitchen counter to pour oil into a pan and then set it over the rings on the oven. "Did you walk all the way here?"

"Yeah." Merlin leaned against the counter, his arms folded as he watched Arthur crack an egg on the edge of the pan, pulling the shell so that the gooey inside fell onto the metal. Merlin sighed when he saw the yolk spread quickly. "I could've done it better," he muttered.

In response Arthur's eyebrows, if possible, rose even further, and Merlin was suddenly reminded of Gaius. For the second time in ten minutes, he felt his breath constrict in his throat, and his eyes slid shut as he regained control.

The older man didn't really seem to notice though. "You could _not_ ," he drawled scathingly, snatching up a spatula and sliding it beneath the bubbling egg white.

"You can't dip bread in the yolk if it's all spread out like that," he complained, happy to find the pain in his chest easing with Arthur there to tease. "You need it to go all...all globby in the middle."

There was a long pause before Merlin raised his head to meet the other's half-incredulous gaze. " _Globby_ ," Arthur slowly repeated as he removed the pan from the stove and chivvied Merlin out of the way so he could tip the egg onto a plate and put it down on the table.

"Exactly," Merlin answered in a heartbeat, carefully manoeuvring himself into a chair and pulling the plate to him.

Arthur only sighed and wrenched open a draw to get cutlery. But that was when he was distracted again by a frankly disgusting noise and looked back to grimace at the sight of Merlin, eating the fried egg with his hands like it was a bloody sandwich.

" _Mer_ lin," he griped, taking a knife and fork and shoving them beneath Merlin's nose. "Are you always this gross?"

"Only when I haven't eaten in three days," Merlin shot back, mouth full even as he took the proffered cutlery.

Later that morning, Arthur made him two more eggs and seven slices of toast, only wincing a tiny bit when the younger boy dropped a piece, butter face down, on his lap and then picked it up and wolfed it down, obviously hoping the blonde hadn't noticed.

By the time his third egg was deemed perfectly globulous by Merlin, Arthur was surprised by the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth when the boy smacked his lips and licked his fingers clean afterwards.

***

Gwen woke as sunlight shot streaks of gold through the room, settling over her face and making her eyelids flutter.

"Mmm," she mumbled, stretching and twisting beneath the duvet before burying her face in her pillow. "Arrrthur." She reached out blindly, one hand waving in the air as she searched for her boyfriend. After a few moments of fruitless flailing, Gwen lifted her head and frowned at the space that Arthur should have been occupying.

It took her a second to wonder _why_ she thought Arthur might still be in bed beside her, considering the fact that he always got up so early. She sighed sleepily and scrambled around before sitting up, thinking that if her boyfriend _was_ here, he could have kissed her forehead or something, which would have been nice.

"Ugh, life," she groaned then gave a long sigh. "I need to stop talking to myself."

A few minutes later, she was on her feet, padding across the room to pick up and pull on Arthur's dressing gown. As she snuggled down into the material, she found herself making a content little noise. Apparently, Gwen always tended to make a _lot_ of noise in the morning—it was just that no one was ever around to hear it.

She left the room then, intending to head downstairs and maybe eat some toast, but was suddenly pulled up short by the sight of another girl on the landing. Morgana was just leaving the guest room with her dark hair tangling around her shoulders. She was still wearing the pyjamas Gwen had leant her.

"Good morning," Gwen said uncertainly, resting one hand on the banister as she wondered whether to go on down to the kitchen or to wait for the other girl.

But her response was not as cordial. "Merlin's not in bed," Morgana spoke, her eyes slightly narrowed with suspicion. But then she yawned, nostrils flaring, and Gwen couldn't help but smile slightly. Morgana almost looked ugly when she yawned, just like every other person—except there was also something strangely endearing about seeing her lose control of her expression, too caught up in the action to even cover her mouth.

"I'm sure he's downstairs then," Gwen offered with a slight chuckle, "uhm. Shall we go check?"

She took a step, and after a moment Morgana had brought herself to join her and the two of them walked down together.

***

Arthur had been leaning against the kitchen doorframe when Gwen caught him by surprise, wrapping her arms around his waist and standing on tiptoes to kiss the edge of his jaw. He tensed for a second at the feel of her against him but then relaxed and even smiled a little.

"Hey," he laughed around the word, twisting his neck to look down at her.

"Hello," Gwen smiled before she released him and walked into the kitchen, followed closely by Morgana. "Morning, Merlin," she beamed, waving a little at the boy sitting at her table. In response, he'd waved back enthusiastically, though he'd been the only one who missed the way Arthur rolled his eyes.

Morgana glared at Arthur for that and pulled up a chair, sitting beside Merlin and pressing their legs together under the table. "You could've woken me," she began in an accusatory tone.

At first, Merlin had the decency to look a little guilty, but then he was shuffling even closer, his head dropping to rest on her shoulder. "Didn't want to," he shrugged, revelling in the feeling of protection that came with having Morgana so close. "You were tired."

"Not _that_ tired," she replied, but there was a smile on her face this time, and her own cheek was resting against the top of Merlin's head.

With some bemusement, Arthur and Gwen watched this display of affection, and when the couple caught each other's eyes, they both looked away quickly, blushing.

"You've had breakfast then," Gwen spoke, if only to remind the other two that she and Arthur were still in the room.

In that instant, Merlin nodded, sitting up again and stretching. "I taught Arthur to make eggs," he spoke with a triumphant grin, and Arthur frowned, thinking it on the verge of _sinful_ for the boy to be smiling at him like that, at the same time as his whole body curved when he put his arms in the air.

But Gwen just laughed. "Really? I've tried that at least twenty times and he's still awful at it."

Almost immediately, Arthur shook himself, forcing his gaze away from Merlin even as the boy giggled delightedly. "I am _not_ ," he insisted before turning to Morgana with a raised eyebrow. "Are you hungry?"

As Arthur looked at her, her hand tightened convulsively over Merlin's knee, and she felt him stroking gently over her knuckles almost subconsciously. It was a thing they had, which hadn't been limited only to little touches...Morgana and Merlin often comforted each other without realising they were doing it: reassuring each other with absentminded nudges and glances.

"Yeah," Morgana said after a moment, "really hungry."

But Arthur only gave a long, suffering sigh. "Well, we're out of eggs," the blonde continued, as if he hadn't noticed her hesitation. "Your boyfriend made sure of that."

At once, Merlin's mouth popped open in surprise. Although the idea of him and Morgana going out wasn't _completely_ insane, it still most certainly was not going to happen—especially when his dreams last night had consisted mainly of Arthur. However, Morgana made no attempt to correct the older man and instead opted to get to her feet, her fingers sliding gently out from beneath Merlin's.

"I'll eat anything," she spoke with a shrug, moving round the table to look at the opened boxes of cereal on the kitchen counter.

Merlin pursed his lips for a moment, waiting for Morgana to add 'oh and, by the way, Merlin _isn't_ my boyfriend' so that he could get back to fancying Arthur without any hindrance, but when it appeared that she wasn't going to say anything, he chipped in:

"We aren't going out, you know? We're just..."

And he stopped all of a sudden when Morgana looked at him, smirking slightly as he struggled to come up with a suitable noun.

"Just...friends," Merlin finished lamely.

Arthur snorted. "I can't imagine any of _my_ friends carrying me across the Wall," he informed them, before shaking his head slightly. "Well whatever. Guinevere, I'm going out."

Gwen, who had been watching Morgana's hands as they tapped lightly on the countertop, looked at Arthur instead. "Okay," she replied with a smile, albeit a little sadly. "For how long?"

But Arthur only shrugged, already turning to go. "Couple of hours?" he spoke, purposefully not tacking on the ' _however long it takes to clear my head'_ because then everyone would probably know he wouldn't be back until very late that evening. Possibly early tomorrow morning.

"Right," Gwen answered with a nod, at the same time as Merlin abruptly blurted, "Can I come too?" and Morgana pushed herself forwards—towards Arthur— her hands balling into fists.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

"Just don't let anything slip." Morgana began, her fingers holding onto Merlin's wrist to the point where it was making his eyes smart. "About me and Morgause. Just...God, Merlin, be careful and look after yourself."

"I'll be fine," Merlin told her gently, at the same time as he began to prise her off of his arm. "He's only got me for an hour. I'll be in and out of there in no time."

"I know, but Merlin..." she trailed off, her eyes roving over his face and taking in his calm expression.

At this, he leant forwards and hugged her tightly. "Stop worrying," he murmured before pulling away and knocking on the front door.

Morgana swallowed hard then nodded and whispered, "I'll come meet you, all right?" And before the other could say anything in response, she already was moving away and out of sight.

Merlin watched her go, biting his lip as he moved nervously from foot to foot. Everything he knew about Cenred came from Morgana, and everything she knew came from Morgause, and not much of what Morgause had told her was very... _Nice_.

Merlin thought, wondering as he stood there, how two people who obviously despised each other could end up getting married. But then when the door was finally answered, and Merlin found himself face to face with his new client, he could see where some of the attraction might lie.

Cenred was taller than Merlin and clad entirely in leather, right down to a pair of flexible black gloves. His hair hung to his shoulders, like Gwaine's, but it was a shade darker, and straighter. Merlin couldn't decide whether he liked it or not though. In fact, he wasn't sure he liked much at all about Cenred's appearance, but he could certainly see why others would. He was obviously handsome, and perhaps Merlin would have been more interested, if it weren't for the cold expression on his face and the way he seemed to scrutinise Merlin before stepping back and allowing him entrance.

"Thanks," Merlin muttered as he ducked inside, shrugging off his jacket as he went. The hallway was dark, lit by dim electric lights that flickered eerily and reminded Merlin of the horror film he and Will had stolen into the cinema to watch when they were about eight. In retrospect it had been complete shit, and Merlin was sure he could watch it again now and do nothing but laugh the whole way through. But at the time it had had him sobbing into Will's shoulder, and now as he anxiously glanced around at the constantly flickering lights, he felt a familiar chill settling at the bottom of his stomach.

Cenred hadn't even bothered to deign Merlin with an 'it's all right', instead pushing past him and leading him upstairs. Merlin hesitated for a moment, floored. Morgana had told him that she'd always gone downstairs to meet Morgause. In fact, she had described the layout of the basement in great detail so Merlin was sure he could navigate it easily, if for some reason he needed to get away—away from _Cenred_. He knew nothing of what awaited him upstairs, but it wasn't as if he really had a choice. With a deep breath he jogged after Cenred, lowering his head when the ceiling sloped above him and letting go of the banister quickly when it gave an unstable jerk.

The bedroom door was made of black metal and when Cenred pulled it open, Merlin had to stand back. It swung outwards, and there was barely enough room for it on the little landing. Cenred led the way inside, pulling off his leather jacket as he moved to sit on the double bed in the centre of the room. Merlin could feel his palms beginning to sweat as he stood awkwardly by the open door, his eyes roving about the room. Everything was either black or dark purple, and the atmosphere was nothing short of terrifying.

" _Well_?" The first word Cenred had spoken since Merlin's arrival was like a shock to his system, and he blinked, his gaze coming to rest on the older man's face. "I'm not paying you to just stand there."

At the implied invitation, Merlin nodded in stunted agreement and slowly moved forwards. Sometimes it was easy to tell what your client wanted while at other times it was impossible to do the right thing until your instructions were stated clearly. With Cenred it wasn't difficult: Merlin shed his clothes as he walked without being told. Shoes and socks first, because he had learnt the hard way that trying to take your trousers off whilst still wearing your trainers was... _ungainly_ , to say the least. Then it was his worn hoodie, which Gwaine had picked up for him when it became clear that not a day would go by where Merlin wouldn't bite the inside of his cheek or lip from his teeth chattering so much.

As Cenred nodded approvingly, Merlin continued to divest himself of his t-shirt and then his trousers, until he was standing with his knees up against Cenred's, wearing only his underwear. There was a chill in the room that caused gooseflesh to rise on Merlin's arms and legs, and it was all he could do not to wrap his arms tightly around his stomach in an effort to keep warm or at least protect himself from Cenred's penetrating stare.

There was a moment of silence before Cenred's eyes finally flicked downwards. In an instant, Merlin understood what he wanted, but it still took a couple of seconds for his thumbs to find the waistband of his boxers and push them down. Cold air hit his dick, and he sucked in a breath as he stepped out of his final scrap of clothing before kicking it away.

The man in front of him appraised Merlin's body for a moment as he took in the sight of his prick, soft but heavy between his thighs. Then his hands were on Merlin's hips, bruising and possessive.

"There are no boundaries here," Cenred hissed, "I pay you to give me exactly what I want."

"For an hour," Merlin spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. That had been the agreement for the first time. If Merlin reported back to Gwaine later and told him everything was fine, perhaps his next visit would be for longer. Somehow, with Cenred's ever tightening grip on his waist, Merlin couldn't quite see that happening.

"Don't underestimate what we can get done in an hour, _Merlin_."

Merlin gasped as Cenred stood suddenly with a squeaking of dark leather that rubbed against his bare skin. The deliberate use of his name had unnerved him even more—there had been too much emphasis _behind_ the word to make him feel even remotely at ease.

Cenred towered over him, despite his gangly height, and moved his hands up from the younger man's hips to his forearms, fingers wrapping around his pale skin before he was twisting him around and shoving him forwards, towards a dressing table.

There was a second during which Merlin was only just able to come to terms with the idea that Cenred was going to fuck him over his wife's dresser before it was already happening. There was a hand at the back of his neck, forcing him down over the wood, and at that moment he'd wanted to struggle simply because if Cenred had asked, he would have positioned himself without complaint.

_That was his job, after all_ —the thought made him bristle at the force being used to hold him in place, and he grunted when the side of his face slammed down. Soon, the pressure on his neck vanished, and there was the unmistakeable sound of leather gloves being pulled from fingers.

" _Lick_."

Cenred's voice made Merlin's eyes fly open. He hadn't even realised that he had allowed them to shut, but he guessed that Cenred had been waiting with his hand in front of Merlin's mouth for at least a couple of seconds. His tone was impatient and commanding, and Merlin stuck out his tongue, drawing Cenred's fingers quickly into his mouth hoping that if he moved with enough speed the man might mistake his rushed reluctance for enthusiasm. Not that it mattered how Merlin felt anyway.

Cenred's digits tasted of rust, and Merlin wondered whether it was from the bedroom door or something more sinister. He remembered falling over when he was younger and pressing his open mouth over the cuts on his knee like a sick parody of a kiss as he tried to make the pain go away. Now he internally shuddered at how much Cenred's skin reminded him of the taste of blood and was relieved when the hand was removed, even though there wasn't any room to doubt where they were going next.

Merlin's jaw, already slack and slightly saw from working around Cenred's fingers, fell open wider when the man breached him. It burned, and Merlin fought back a whimper, waiting for Cenred to finish preparing him. It didn't take long: just a few shallow thrusts from a single, blunt finger before it was the man's cock, pressing at Merlin's hole. At that moment, Merlin whined long and high, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment but unable to help it. He was frantically trying to figure out when Cenred had undone his trousers—when he had drawn out his cock and lined it up. It seemed important even though it really, _really_ wasn't, when the man was pushing past that tight, hot ring of muscle, mouth coming down to bite at Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin flailed a bit beneath him, drawing in a ragged breath as Cenred's body mass bared down over him and when Cenred was pulling out, giving Merlin a chance to gasp loudly, before slamming back dry and unforgiving and _stretching_ the boy beyond endurance. It was on the third punishing thrust that the first sparks of pleasure rippled their way up Merlin's spine, and he clenched his fists when he felt his own cock stirring, hardening against his stomach. Cenred didn't try to stop him when he grabbed his dick and began stroking erratically, even whilst the older man continued to fuck him mercilessly. Somewhere, deep inside his own head, Merlin was grateful that Cenred didn't seem to care about Merlin getting himself off, for this was an orgasm he didn't want to prolong, and there wasn't nearly enough pleasure when he climaxed, his vision going white around the edges.

Cenred came a few seconds later, and for a moment Merlin was terrified that he would feel it—feel Cenred's come filling him up. Thankfully, that never happened, and Merlin realised that Cenred must have put on a condom as quietly as he had unzipped his fly. There was _something_ wet though, sliding down his thighs when Cenred pulled out, and he moaned softly as he felt teeth and tongue dragging a heated, painful line down his neck.

"That was less than an hour," Cenred murmured into his ear, at the same time placing a small leather pouch on the dresser, right in Merlin's line of vision. "But I can't think of anything more to do with you, in this state."

Merlin flinched when he felt Cenred pinch his flank. "Get dressed, take the money, and go."

In that instant, it felt to Merlin as if he had to un-stick himself from the furniture, wincing as he peeled himself off and up with his chest glowing red and sweaty. Cenred had moved away, back towards the bed, and wasn't watching like he had done when Merlin stripped. Merlin was glad for that: he doubted there had been anything remotely sexy about the way he stumbled to snatch up his trousers, grimacing with every step.

Nothing was offered to him to wipe away the blood which was still oozing from his hole, and he hesitated for a moment before using a shaking hand to smear the worst of it away. The scarlet slickness between his legs made him want to throw up, and he reflected on how this had to be the worst it could get. He'd been fucked before now—of course he had, but apart from the very first time no one had left him feeling so damn sore and definitely _not_ in a good way.

It took him a few fumbling minutes to get back into his clothes, his hoodie being the last thing to put on as he dragged it over his head until he was swamped in it. It smelt like Gwaine, and he sighed a little, hugging it tighter around him. After that, he picked up the leather pouch, telling himself that no matter how much was inside, he would not be returning.

***

"I'm starting to think you enjoyed that too much, dearest," Morgause purred as she changed into her nightdress, eyes only leaving her husband's face when the material slipped over her head.

Cenred snorted, "So shoot me," he replied, his expression hungry as she got into the bed beside him. "It's not as if you don't like the girl."

"The girl is who will change our lives," Morgause spoke. settling back against her pillows. "I'm _allowed_ to like her."

"Well, the boy has his charms." Morgause rolled her eyes at Cenred's shark like demeanour as he remembered Merlin writhing beneath him.

"I'm sure," she sighed before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "I trust you fucked him hard enough for Morgana to notice?"

"I fucked him hard enough for the whole _world_ to notice," Cenred chuckled, rolling over until he had Morgause's wrists pinned above her. "Uther could see that boy's bruises from across the Wall."

At this, Morgause smiled, allowing Cenred to have control for a moment and groaning when he leant down to suck at her collar bone. Then she pushed back to tug a hand free and to twist her fingers in his hair, manoeuvring until it was him underneath, eyes glinting with want.

"And you paid him well?"

"Not well enough that he'll ever come back." Cenred frowned, propping himself up on his elbows and leaving his eyes wide open when Morgause kissed him softly, reacting slowly to the lips massaging his before pulling away. "When are you going to explain all this to me, Morgause? Why _that_ girl? And why was leaving that kid bowlegged so damn important?"

Morgause lay flat out on top of Cenred, tangling her legs with his and resting with her head on his chest. "Morgana isn't just some random whore, dear." She pressed a kiss just above his left nipple, breathing over the slightly raised flesh and watching it pebble. "I knew it from the moment I saw her."

"Knew what?" Cenred's breathing was ragged as he tangled ringed fingers in his wife's long blonde hair.

"That she was my sister." She looked up, smiling when Cenred let out a loud groan, lost simply to the sound of her voice and the pictures her words were painting.

"You...you..."

"Well, half sister," Morgause amended, "and she doesn't know. But _I_ know that she is perfect and that her father...well, he isn't quite as commendable."

"Tell me," Cenred rasped, somehow finding the strength to once again lift himself up a little and look down at Morgause.

"Uther Pendragon," she whispered, her voice floating up over his skin.

"Oh," he gasped.

"Quite," Morgause murmured, propping her chin on his chest. "My mother told me that she'd had another child, when I saw her again that time. You remember?"

Cenred nodded. It wasn't hard to forget a woman like Morgause's mother, but what was even harder to forget was the way Morgause had killed her. Blood had flooded the streets that night, and the next morning children had played in the drying filth whilst their parents ran after them, screaming. "That's why you saw her dead," he filled in the gaps, cupping Morgause's jaw.

"It is. But I bear no ill will against my beloved sister. And now you, my love, have given her the final push into my arms."

Cenred's forehead creased in another frown as he let himself fall back and stare up at the ceiling. "How?" he asked.

Morgause sighed, heavily. "We are united now," she explained, "by a mutual hatred."

"Of Uther?" Cenred supplied, confused.

In that instant, she frowned. "Well, there is that, although for once I didn't mean Uther."

At this, Cenred swallowed. "Then who—?"

But before he could say anything more, there was a deafening bang and a scraping of metal on wood as the bedroom door was forced open and then blasted completely off its hinges, slamming into the right wall.

Cenred pushed Morgause away from him with a yelp, legs swinging out of bed. He was halfway up when something, some invisible force, punched straight through his heart. There was a moment of stifling silence, where his gaze slid dazedly from the face of the pale girl who had burst into the room and killed him, with her dark hair tied over one shoulder, to the eyes of Morgause. She smiled at him, slow and twisted and everything that he had ever loved about her.

"You," she said, softly when he was crashing down, head cracking against the bedpost. Dead.

***

Merlin had wanted to run from the house, but with every step it felt like he was being ripped open, like Cenred had split him to the core, and there was no hope of sealing up the bloody gap he'd left behind.

A soft sob escaped him as he turned down the alleyway where he was supposed to be meeting Morgana, and he brought his hand up to his mouth before sagging against the wall. He didn't want her to see him like this, but he wasn't sure he could make it back to Gwaine's by himself, either. And it was unlikely that he'd be able to hide his obvious discomfort from her for any reasonable length of time, for they were simply too close.

With that in mind, he waited, panting heavily against his own hand, his head tipped back and eyes shut.

When Morgana arrived, hair swept forwards over her shoulders that were slightly hunched against the cold, she didn't waste any time. She was by Merlin in a moment, a hand curling protectively around his neck as she shifted him, subtly moving him until their foreheads were pressed together. She could feel cool sweat drying on his brow, and when his fingers moved to touch her they were shaking.

"Merlin," she breathed, tugging gently on the hair at his nape, "what happened?"

But she already knew. She could see it in the way he refused to look into her eyes: the way he was slightly bent over, drawing himself in. For a second she did nothing and just felt him there, watching as he curled his hands up in her jacket and just _held_. Then she was tugging him forwards.

"Come on," she urged, pulling him along, "we've got to get you back, _now_."

It took them half an hour, but it should have been under twenty minutes. Merlin's footsteps were slightly uneven, and Morgana could hear his short intakes of breath whenever they picked up the pace. In the end she stopped trying to make him speed up and slowed down so that they were walking steadily, side by side.

Gwaine was waiting for them when they got back, an arm wound around Freya's waist as they watched some meaningless crap on the TV. Morgana pictured how Merlin had looked when he had finally managed to fix the bloody thing after spending days whispering to it, eyes flashing determinedly. Now they had five channels, and sometimes it was all they could do to drag Freya from the sofa. It turned out that she liked to curl up and lose herself in the moving pictures, no matter how meaningless. It was completely understandable.

Morgana took one look at them now though, just sitting there, before she lost it.

"Get the fuck up," she hissed, letting go of Merlin's arm as she moved closer to them. "Gwaine, move!"

Gwaine looked up quickly, pulling away from Freya with his eyes flitting between Morgana and Merlin. "Morgana, what—?" He trailed off the minute he saw the look on her face.

She wasn't _crying_ , she was just breathing in harsh pants, and her eyes were shining. "Just look after him, okay? Turn that shit off, fucking hell Gwaine, why did you let him go there?" Gwaine was immediately on his feet, hurrying towards where Merlin was standing.

"I'm fine," Merlin tried to reassure, "it wasn't even that bad, I—"

"Shut up, Merlin," Morgana sighed, already halfway back out the door. "Just... _don't_." And she swallowed. "I'm going to kill that bastard."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Ever since he was a very small child it had been Lance's dream, his ambition even, to become a Knight of Camelot. It was the sort of idea which most young boys gave up on, once they started getting into school properly and began reading the newspapers: Knights were there to protect the city, but it didn't take much research to discover that the city was so messed up anyway that there wasn't much point anymore.

Lance knew once there had been a time when being a Knight meant something more than just standing guard outside of Pendragon Estate, where the King lived, or patrolling the Wall in case the sorcerers on the other side started feeling rebellious. Once it had been more than _money_ or fame...not that Lance didn't want those things. He collected the action figures like any other kid: Sir Leon had always stood proudest on his bedside table, and he sometimes fell asleep imagining what it would be like if in ten years time, some other boy slept with a figure of _him_ , of Sir Lancelot, standing on top of a CD rack.

Those were the nights where he fell asleep smiling.

The only thing was that not _anyone_ could become a Knight of Camelot. You had to have been born on the right side of the Wall. You had to be of pure and noble birth. Lance didn't even know who his mother was, but he sure as hell knew she hadn't been a noblewoman, seeing as his childhood home had been nothing more than a shack and his father nothing more than a door to door salesman. Not that there was anything wrong with that...it just wasn't enough.

Eventually when he was twelve, he finally told his father that he was leaving home. That he was crossing the Wall to go to school, and he was going to make it work. It was difficult, of course, and just on the edge of being illegal, but he did it. Every morning he would make the journey, the long walk from one side of the city to the other, and then after school he would come back again. It had been a while before he felt safe making the journey...a few months before he could be certain of when the Knights would be changing guards, leaving the door between the two sides unprotected for a mere minute or so and allowing him to slip through unnoticed.

Once on the other side though, everything was how Lance had imagined, and it was perfect.

He won friends by fighting for them: no one could deny that he had talent or that he worked hard. Every day he trained. Boxing, fencing, shooting, running, swimming...he was a natural at all of them, but especially boxing. People learnt to respect that no one could throw a punch like Lance could, and who cared if he dressed a little rough and spoke a little funny? It was better to learn to accept that than be on the wrong side of his fist. Not that Lance ever hurt anyone for taunting him—he just never corrected people when they misjudged him.

Later on he became part of a small circle of people who he felt safe enough to call friends, even if their relationships were mostly built up out of mutual fear. Lance never really _liked_ any of his friends, but he preferred their company to being alone.

Lance never really liked anyone—that is, until he spoke to Gwen for the first time.

He could still remember when she had introduced herself, sitting next to him in the playground and smiling toothily with a flush on her cheeks because she had obviously run over to talk to him.

He could still hear himself saying, "You're Guinevere," and feel the heat in his face because, God, he'd had a crush on her even then, and they'd barely spoken before.

In response, she had shaken her head, saying quickly, "Don't call me that! It's Gwen."

It had been so simple...a few minutes later she had been taking his hand and pulling him back to class because the bell had rung to signal the end of break. He'd known exactly where she sat for every lesson and had walked her to her seat, laughing because she'd been doing a shockingly accurate impression of Arthur Pendragon, who was a few years above them.

"You've got to be careful," he'd added though, "you could get in trouble for that. It's—"

"Treason?" She'd smiled playfully up at him, although there had been something a little harder in her eyes.

"Well, yeah." Because everyone knew what could happen if you messed with Arthur. A kid would nick his pencil, and the next thing you knew, his whole family was in court.

Lance watched the Prince sometimes when they were at lunch or after school at football and could never quite make up his mind about him. On the one hand everyone knew that when he was old enough, Arthur would become a Knight, and once his father passed away he would rule over Camelot. That was something Lance had always resented: how Arthur got everything just because of the family he had been born into. But Lance also knew that if he ever somehow succeeded and became a Knight, he would be working directly under, or maybe even with, Arthur Pendragon.

None of these observations brought him any closer to finding out what Arthur was actually like though, and the older boy kept himself pretty closed off even at football. In the end, Lance stopped trying to figure him out, deciding that if Arthur wanted to be all mysterious that was fine. There would be plenty of time to get to know him when they were training for battle together or guarding the Wall. God, what wouldn't Lance give for that to happen?

Anyway, Gwen was smiling up at him, and Lance was already doing this thing where he shook his head fondly at her and gave her a little wave mouthing, ' _Talk to you at lunch.'_ She'd nodded and then quickly turned to face the board, suddenly attentive with her books all stacked up in front of her.

Lance hated himself for finding her so much cuter than words.

It wasn't for a long time that he acted upon the impulse that licked through him every time she grinned at him or caught him unaware by running up behind him and catching him around the waist. It was a funny little thing she seemed to reserve only for him, and he never knew whether to laugh or cry when he felt her arms around him and heard her giggling right by his ear.

They were at the Pendragon's house when it _happened_ though. Gwen had told him it had been hers, but of course it wasn't. Everyone knew what Pendragon Estate looked like, especially Lance, who had a poster of it on his bedroom wall: it was where the knighting ceremony was held after all.

However, he hadn't told Gwen he'd known. Initially he'd been confused, but it didn't take long for him to come to the conclusion that she worked there. It never even occurred to him to tell her that he knew her secret...for he knew what it felt like to be ashamed of where you came from, which was precisely the reason he never invited her round to _his_ house.

He had been losing the game of checkers they'd been playing, abysmally. Gwen always beat him and laughed when he looked put out, saying, "Imagine me with boxing gloves on, though!" which of course only led to him setting up an impromptu boxing ring in the kitchen.

This time she didn't say anything about sport, though. She didn't even really have time to open her mouth because suddenly Lance couldn't hold it in anymore, and he was leaning forwards, pressing his lips to hers.

It lasted all of three seconds, and she didn't move, her eyes wide like a startled deer in the headlights. Still, it wasn't her lack of response which made him pull away, but the bang of the door being thrown wide open.

He had never seen a real expression on Arthur's face before, apart from perhaps jubilation when their school team won a match or the arrogance which seemed permanently ingrained into his features anyway. Even those images had faded from his mind, since Arthur had moved to another school last year. But at that moment, the blonde's whole body seemed to be taut with anger, and Lance was on his feet in a second, swallowing. At first he had thought Arthur's rage stemmed from the fact that he was here in his house, but then the boy was looking at Gwen, and something uncomfortable clicked in Lance's brain.

He let out a soft "oh" of understanding before Arthur's hands were curling around his upper arms, and he was being dragged forcibly from the building. Gwen didn't call after him, and it was her silence that sapped him of any strength he might have used to struggle.

Lance had half expected Arthur to say something after he tossed him back onto the street outside, perhaps a clichéd 'never turn up on my doorstep again', but nothing happened and Arthur was just as quiet as Gwen when he turned and left him there, completely alone.

The next few days had been some of the worst in his life. He'd turned up to school as usual with the intent of apologising to Gwen or, alternatively, shaking her until she explained what the hell had happened. Was she with Arthur? Did she _love_ him? Had she really had no idea that Lance was head over heels about her, that he would do anything for her?

Each question made him feel ill, if only for the reason that he knew that if Gwen did like Arthur, Lance would still be there for her—not waiting for something to go wrong so that he could swoop in and take Arthur's place, but just as a friend. He would support any decision she made because nobody could choose who they fell for, and he would never blame her for not loving him back.

So he'd waited for her to come into school...but she never did, and he'd kept coming in for two weeks before truly accepting the fact that she wasn't ever returning. Then it hit him that, even if he could find a way to convince Uther that he was of noble birth or at least worthy to join the Knights in some other way, Arthur would never let it happen now.

He left school for the last time when he was fifteen years old and told his father to stop paying for the education he felt he no longer needed. He tried to pretend he didn't see the relief in his dad's eyes and not wonder how long the old man had been waiting for his son to give up on his foolish dreams and stop wasting the money they didn't have.

Lance had a new purpose now, anyway. If he couldn't protect the whole of Camelot, he could at least look out for the only person that really mattered to him.

***

"How do we know you aren't going to just go straight to Uther and hand us in?" Morgana spat out, glaring at Arthur with her hands still curled up tightly. Merlin's request to accompany Arthur hung between them.

"I haven't spoken to my father in three months," Arthur replied coldly, "and so far, surprisingly, neither of you have done anything that makes me think you ought to be arrested."

"We crossed the border!" Morgana cried out, bringing up her hand to slam it in frustration against the kitchen counter. "We didn't get passes...you _know_ we don't have passes!"

"As a matter of fact," Arthur sighed tiredly as he held Morgana's gaze, "I thought you did have passes."

It was partly true...to be honest, Arthur hadn't even given any thought to the slips of paper that granted the permission needed to travel from one side of the Wall to the other. He wondered how Morgana and Merlin had managed without them. Obviously he'd need to have a word with the Knights...otherwise he'd have to speak to his father. He really hadn't been lying though, when he'd said it'd been three months.

"Morgana," Merlin began in a tentative tone, looking imploringly at her. "Firstly, I think you should stop trying to persuade Arthur that we've broken the law because that's just generally unhelpful."

At this, Morgana let out a huff of air and chewed the inside of her cheek. On the other hand, Arthur almost couldn't help the smile that slowly appeared on his face at the sound of Merlin trying to be rational.

"And secondly," the younger man continued, glancing quickly at him, "I don't think he's going to hand us over to Uther. I won't let him, anyway."

" _Excuse_ me?" Arthur's smile vanished abruptly, and he spluttered.

"I'm going to come with you..." Merlin replied, "I wasn't actually _asking,_ you know," and he was padding from the kitchen before any of them could call him back.

Gwen looked between her boyfriend and Morgana for a moment, trying not to laugh at the remarkably similar dumbfounded expressions they had on their faces as they stared after Merlin.

"I'll go find him some shoes, shall I?" she said, rolling her eyes when neither of them answered then hurrying after the boy who had been let loose in her house.

She found him leaning heavily against the banister but looking mournfully down at his feet. "Are you all right?" she asked, moving to stand beside him.

"I don't have any shoes," he told her with a sigh, "and it kinda hurts to walk and stuff."

At that moment, Gwen bit back a smile because Merlin was really a bit adorable before she'd looked at him and told him gently:

"He really won't go to Uther...he isn't like that. Nothing would happen if you decided to stay here."

Merlin looked at her and found himself appreciating the fact that she didn't say outright that it wasn't as if he'd be able to stop Arthur from going to his father anyway. Even though Merlin _knew_ he was more than capable, even with wonky feet, thank you very much.

"I know he won't," he assured her, moving gingerly from foot to foot. "But I _want_ to go."

Gwen lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

Almost at once Merlin realised he was heading into dangerous waters: he must in no way insinuate that he had a crush on this woman's boyfriend. More than a crush. A boat-sized bucket of infatuation might be a more apt description of his condition.

"I want to see what it's like, this side of the Wall," was the tentative reply he'd settled on because at least it wasn't a lie.

Gwen's expression softened again as she placed a hand on his arm. "There'll be plenty of time for that," she began, but at Merlin's crestfallen expression she couldn't help but laugh and say, "all right, listen. I'm going to find you some shoes and then get Arthur to drive you into town instead of taking you for a walk. He does enough walking, anyway." And Merlin wondered if he could imagine the faint hint of resentment behind her words, "he can show you the sights."

At this, Merlin beamed, "Can Morgana come too?"

"Erm," Gwen made a little grimacing face as she continued in a more reluctant voice, "something tells me that she and Arthur aren't going to get on that well...my boyfriend can be a little difficult around new people. I might take Morgana out tomorrow, if she wants to, and you can come with us both then too?"

"Your boyfriend's a prat," Merlin said sagely, "but yes, these all sound like good plans."

Gwen laughed, taken aback by the other's boldness. She decided that she very much liked him. "I'm glad you think so...about the plans, not about Arthur being a prat."

"But you know it's true," he chuckled, nudging her with a big grin on his face. "Also, you really deserve a boyfriend who can cook."

"You do know I can hear you?" Arthur called, stepping out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "And that I will always be able to hear whatever anyone says in here while I'm in the kitchen because that's what happens _when you leave the door open_."

"Well that's good then," Merlin answered with a smile, "because Gwen won't have to explain all over again. You're taking me to town in your car!"

"Oh joy," Arthur answered dryly, a hand coming up to rub wearily at his eyes. "Just _please_ change into something that isn't rags? I'm not letting you anywhere _near_ my car if you're wearing that."

Gwen tutted at Arthur's choice of words but didn't disagree, so Merlin didn't complain much as he was steered upstairs, especially as it was Arthur's hands, firm against the small of his back, propelling him upwards.

Once Gwen had found some things of Arthur's that might not hang off his skinny frame too noticeably and a pair of the blonde's shoes that actually turned out to be a little small, she left Merlin to change and went downstairs, presumably to check on Morgana.

Merlin had been caught half-way between a smirk and a blush when he'd tried to pull them on and they hadn't fit. He'd even taken off his socks, which _had_ helped a little, but only made Arthur wince.

"Please tell me you're going to wash first," Arthur groaned, trailing behind Merlin as he headed for the bathroom.

"Fucking hell, Arthur," Merlin shot back, rounding on him as he reached the bathroom door. "I get it, all right? I stink, and of course I'm going to wash before I put on your stupid shirt."

As he turned to stalk through the door, Arthur caught hold of his arm. "Look," he said lowly, "this is my house, and those are _my_ clothes. You do _not_ get to talk to me like that, even if Guinevere treats you like a friend already. Just hurry up so we can go." He let go of Merlin's arm, taking a step back.

But the younger man just gaped at him. "You're not much like how I imagined you," he replied in a frank voice, with his head cocked slightly to the side, "you should know, that really sucks." Then he looked away, locking the bathroom door shut.

***

When Merlin traipsed back downstairs, dressed now in jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a thick jumper, Morgana was waiting for him at the bottom, while Arthur and Gwen seemed to be having a quiet argument by the front door as Arthur pulled on his shoes.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Morgana told him, reaching up to smooth down his collar and looking sceptical— _anxious_ even.

"I really don't think he'll do anything," Merlin spoke with a shrug, "we're just going into town. I can't just stay inside forever."

"It's been one night, Merlin," she reminded him, "and you remember that there's a reason we're on this side of the Wall to start with?"

"Of course I _remember_." Merlin's voice suddenly turned bitter "But no one would expect us to cross over. We're safe here."

"For now," Morgana murmured, "maybe." She kissed his forehead, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Then Merlin hugged her back briefly before they were interrupted.

"We're going on a _day_ _trip_ , not on some epic journey."

At that point, Arthur had finally got his shoes on and was now rolling his eyes at the pair of them. In response, Merlin pulled away from Morgana with a shrug and walked over to where Arthur was standing, practically vibrating in his excitement to be going outside. He really _was_ acting like he'd been cooped up for months rather than hours.

Gwen smiled at him fondly then glared at Arthur in a way that clearly said, 'Be nice' and that confirmed Merlin's suspicions that they'd been arguing over _him_. But he'd only smiled sweetly at Arthur, who'd groaned before pulling open the front door and leading them both out into the snow.

" _In_ ," Arthur spoke firmly, pulling open the door to his car and looking pointedly at Merlin.

The younger man hesitated, looking uncertain, before he gingerly clambered inside and settled down wide eyed as he began to stare at everything.

It took a few moments for Arthur to get in beside him and then start up the engine. "Seatbelt," he intoned without even looking at his passenger with his eyes fully set on the road.

"Right," Merlin replied slowly, biting his lip as he searched around for the specified object. It took him a couple of moments to realise it was just behind his left arm, and he twisted to reach for it, flailing right there in the front seat.

By this point Arthur _was_ looking at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "What's _wrong_ with you?" he asked incredulously, while Merlin stiffly buckled himself in, cheeks red.

"I haven't been in a car before!" the other shot back defensively, "'s'not my fault."

At this Arthur swallowed back one of the many scathing retorts that instantly jumped to his tongue, let out a long suffering sigh, and began to drive. Additionally and with great effort, he did his best to ignore Merlin's panicked expression when they turned corners, or how he was leaning as far back in his seat as possible.

It was a ten minute drive into the city centre though, and by the end Merlin was looking a little more comfortable, his gaze flicking alternately between Arthur and the window. In fact, by the time Arthur parked, it looked like he had been beginning to enjoy himself.

"That was _awesome_ ," he laughed, grinning as he sat up properly and began fiddling with the seatbelt as he tried to figure out how to undo it. Before long, Arthur leaned over and did it for him, pretending not to notice the way Merlin froze as their fingers brushed and the audible exhale he let out when Arthur moved away again.

"Of course it was," the blonde answered confidently as he opened the car door and got out, smiling when he heard the sounds of Merlin following suit. "It was _me_ driving."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

At first, when he and Morgana had first made it over, Merlin hadn't really been able to appreciate being on the right side of the Wall. It had been too dark to start with, and later on when morning came they had both usually curled up out of sight to sleep.

But now Merlin didn't want to blink in case he missed something. His eyes were open so wide it _ached_ , and he was aware that Arthur was watching him with an amused expression, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Everything he passed he had to touch, his fingers flying over the frosted plants growing in flowerbeds on the pavements, skirting over the snow-capped metal hoods of cars, and every now and then brushing against Arthur's arm.

"Will you stop?" Arthur laughed, catching hold of Merlin's hand when he reached out to feel the handles of a chained up bicycle. In that instant, Merlin stared down at the point of contact between Arthur's skin and his, trying to tell himself that it was stupid for his heart to be beating this fast. Soon enough though, the blonde's smile gradually slid off his face before he quickly dropped Merlin's hand and grumbled, "People are staring."

"At _you_ ," Merlin reminded him, mentally shaking himself.

"Yeah well, you're not helping."

"You'd think they'd be used to having you live here by now. They must see you all the time," Merlin mused, unable to stop the grin that came to his face when one woman spotted Arthur, a hand flying to her heart like she was in a bloody novel.

"I don't make a habit of public appearances," Arthur told him, eyeing the woman with undisguised distaste. "And when I do, I'm usually...alone."

"You don't go out with Gwen?" Merlin chanced a glance at him from beneath his lashes. But Arthur didn't even deign to reply, instead continuing to lead Merlin down the street towards a men's clothes shop.

Merlin jogged a little to keep up with the other man's quickening pace, ignoring the pains shooting up his legs every time his feet connected with the floor.

"Why are we going here?" he asked, jostling Arthur as they entered and his mouth falling open as he took in the racks of clothing.

"Merlin." Arthur looked at him. "First, stop gawping. You need to look like you've lived here all your life, for Christ's sake."

At that moment, Merlin snapped his mouth shut. Then Arthur let out a long sigh. "Second, we're here because as far as _I'm_ aware, you don't own _any_ clothes apart from the ones you arrived in and, make no mistake, I _will_ be burning those at the first opportunity. So be good and pick out some things that don't look too horrendous. And don't worry about prices."

The younger man blinked and tried to keep his composure, but it was difficult. Some of the stuff in there looked like it would cost more than Gwaine's whole house, and Arthur had just told him _not to worry_ about the prices.

"Uhm," he mumbled, swallowing.

The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose for a second then muttered, "Completely useless," before striding forwards. "Helena?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Uh, Arthur? I'm Merlin..." he said non-plussed, before a woman strode into view from behind a line of blazers. "Oh."

"Arthur!" Helena beamed, sweeping Arthur into a hug and kissing both his cheeks. Merlin gaped.

"Mouth shut, Merlin," Arthur reminded, pulling away from Helena and spotting him. There was an almost audible click as Merlin closed his jaw, although he continued to stare at the pair of them. He hadn't thought Arthur capable of showing such casual affection.

Helena looked at Merlin with curiosity. "I didn't hear that you and Gwen were adopting, Arthur! You know we don't sell kid's clothes."

Merlin went pink with indignation, while the older man smirked.

"I'm seventeen!" he squawked, but then Arthur was behind him, hands warm and heavy on his shoulders. A second later Merlin couldn't help but let out a frustrated little noise because he was sure that the way his voice had squeaked up an octave hadn't been helpful.

"Merlin's going to be staying with me for a little while," Arthur spoke in a careful tone, "and well, look at him..." he went on, gesturing to the other's profile up and down. "He has potential though, don't you think?"

Helena was obviously still intrigued as to whom Merlin was, but she contemplatively placed a finger on her chin and considered Merlin like he was a particularly interesting bug beneath a microscope.

"Nice cheekbones," she observed while Merlin started squirming under her scrutiny. "Haircut's...questionable. Too skinny. But yes, I think potential is definitely there."

Merlin turned away from her, shame beginning to pool at the bottom of his stomach. He had never gotten over the way clients had sized him up before using him. He knew Helena wasn't _them_ , but having the faults in his appearance pointed out had always made him more than uncomfortable.

He knew he wasn't perfect.

He knew that there were things about his body that displeased people.

He just didn't like to be reminded, especially when it brought back memories of all the times people had tried to _fix_ him: teeth pulling at his ears because they were too big, hands squeezing at his arse because it was too bony...

Arthur seemed to notice Merlin's sudden reluctance because he increased the pressure on Merlin's shoulders for a brief moment before releasing him.

"Good," he replied coolly, and Merlin was surprised by how gentle his voice had sounded. "We'll be stopping at the barber's next, don't worry. Do you have anything for him here?"

"I don't need the barber's," the younger man hissed, horrified by the way he could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. But Arthur ignored him, looking steadily at Helena.

"I'm sure we have some things," Helena answered cordially with a nod, seemingly oblivious to Merlin's distress. "Smaller sizes are towards the back, so you might want to look there."

"Thank you." Arthur gave her a warm smile before steering Merlin in the direction she had suggested.

"Seriously, Arthur," Merlin sighed as he frowned at the clothes for sale, "this is ridiculous. Can't we just pick up something second hand or...I don't know—something that I'd be able to pay you back for at some point in my life?"

"No," the blonde answered, casually picking up a pair of light blue jeans. "Try these on."

They'd been in the shop for about an hour before Merlin finally insisted that they leave. With every item that hadn't fit or that Arthur declared unsuitable, he'd felt himself getting hotter and more frustrated, until even Arthur noticed that there was no point continuing.

"All right, we're leaving," he'd eventually complied, amused when Merlin let out a loud sigh of relief.

With that, Arthur went up to the counter and paid for everything that had passed his inspection as well as discretely snatching up several pairs of boxers and adding them to the mountain of clothes.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Arthur," Helena told him in a hushed voice, as she loaded the clothes into a bag. Merlin was by the doors and too far away to hear her. In any case, he was too busy staring at the floor and scuffing his shoes to be paying any attention.

"I haven't a clue," Arthur admitted before smiling, "thank you."

***

"You hungry?" he asked as they walked back out onto the street.

Merlin perked up a little at that. "Starved," he replied then continued hastily, "but can we just eat somewhere normal, please?"

At that moment, Arthur wrinkled up his nose. "And what's normal for you? We're not about to go scavenging, Merlin."

"I didn't go scavenging," Merlin lied in an instant, "you know I actually _had_ a job. I got _paid_."

"Oh? What was your job?"

Merlin couldn't tell whether Arthur was genuinely intrigued or not, but he at least _looked_ interested. Not that it mattered though...he wasn't quite prepared to tell the older man about his career choices.

"None of your business," he settled on, annoyed when it came out sounding petulant.

Arthur glanced at him with pursed lips but didn't comment except to say, "Well, I hope a cafe is up to your standards. I could do with a coffee."

***

The cafe was quiet when Arthur automatically headed towards a table at the back, but then Merlin pleaded with him to sit near the window, so he complied if only to get the boy to shut up, and not because there had been something nice about the way Merlin beamed when Arthur caved.

"It's so cool," Merlin was murmuring in awe as Arthur observed how much more relaxed the younger man looked here rather than in the shop.

"What is?" he asked.

"This, here," Merlin sighed, gesturing vaguely about the cafe then towards the window. "It's just so... _different_."

"I should hope so," Arthur answered, with a shrug, "I'd be worried if you came from the other side and discovered life over here was exactly the same."

"Mmm," Merlin murmured in agreement, still looking out the window. "I just can't imagine growing up here, though."

Arthur considered him for a moment: the way his neck was craned and his nose practically pressed against the glass as he tried to catch a glimpse of everything there was to see.

"Boring," the blonde finally spoke. Merlin shifted then to look at him, frowning. Arthur found himself slowly shaking his head. "Boring and lonely."

There was a long pause. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry and he coughed, wishing he hadn't spoken. Merlin's gaze was penetrating.

Then after a few seconds, Arthur finally brought himself to speak again. "You know what you're going to order?" he asked, relieved when Merlin looked away from him and down at the menu.

"Not yet," he said.

***

Morgana never thought she'd be able to kill somebody until Cenred slumped down to the floor, unmoving with his eyes completely glazed over. And even then, she couldn't quite believe it.

She stared down at his body, her heart thundering in her chest to the point of pain and her mouth hanging open.

There were a few seconds of silence before she lifted her eyes to meet the other woman's: the wife's eyes, which held no sadness in that moment, but only triumph. Relief. Pride.

"Morgause, I'm—" Morgana cut herself off, unsure of what to say. Unsure whether she ought to be begging for forgiveness or awaiting Morgause's gratitude.

"I know what he did," the other told her in a hushed voice, "to Merlin. I'm so sorry."

In that instant Morgana's legs gave way beneath her, and she was stumbling, choking on the air. Morgause darted forwards and caught her, moving until they were both sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning into one another.

"Thank you," Morgana breathed, eyes closed as she rocked back and forth and Morgause's fingers tangled in her dark curls as they held on.

"He _hurt_ him," she whispered against Morgause's chest, like she still couldn't comprehend it. "He hurt _Merlin_."

"I know." Morgause looked over at her dead husband's body, smothered in so much tacky black leather. "But he'll never hurt anyone again, and now nobody stands in our way. Oh— Morgana."

The younger woman twisted slightly in the other's arms, so she could look at her face. "What do you mean 'nobody stands in our way'? Way of what? Morgause, what—"

"Shhh..." Morgause murmured, softly pressing a kiss to Morgana's forehead. "He wouldn't let me tell you. I'm so sorry—but I can now..."

"Tell me what?" Morgana tugged fully away from Morgause, who was now biting her lip and looking pained. "What wouldn't he let you tell me, Morgause? Please, what was it?"

The older woman reached forwards to brush a thumb across Morgana's cheek, feeling something suddenly tighten in her chest because it had never been her intention to fall in love with Morgana. That unexpected detail had never been part of the plan.

"I know who your father is," she said softly after a minute, watching Morgana's face closely for her reaction. But there was none, apart from a slight widening of the eyes and a quiet intake of breath.

"Who?" Morgana spoke just above a hushed whisper and leaned almost imperceptibly closer, her question laced with both curiosity and reluctance.

" _Uther_ ," Morgause replied in a steadfast voice before she could convince herself that she shouldn't, "Uther Pendragon."

In response, Morgana blinked slowly, a frown making itself known across her pale face that seemed almost sickly in the dimly lit room.

"What?" she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "What—no! He's not my... _Uther?_ "

"Shhh," Morgause swiftly cut in, taking Morgana's hand with pleading eyes. "Don't you see how perfect this is? Morgana, your father is ruler of Camelot. You have rights. You—"

"No," Morgana abruptly answered, although it was more uncertain than before. "Morgause, you're wrong. How could you even know that?"

"Because..." She paused for a second then lowered her gaze with a solemn expression on her face. "Because I knew your mother, Morgana. She told me she had a daughter, and...I can just _tell_."

"You knew my mother?" the other girl blurted, staring incredulously at her. "Who was she? Where is she? Morgause, what...?"

"I'm so sorry" Morgause spoke softly, pulling Morgana back into her arms. "She passed away before I ever met you, but you look just like her. She told me that after she had you, she left you to protect you. She thought Uther would try to find you, and she didn't want that. She _knew_..."

"What did she know?" Morgana was breathless, lips against Morgause's neck.

"That you would be different. Special. _Magic_. She couldn't let Uther have you."

It made sense, Morgana supposed. All of it made sickening sense, but Morgause's body was soft and warm against her, and she just wanted to sink into her touch and lose herself in the fabric of the other woman's nightdress.

"So what now?" she asked, sighing when Morgause moved her so she was lying on her back, thighs spread to accommodate her.

"I have a plan," Morgause whispered. At this point, her hands were everywhere, and Morgana felt as if she was melting: spiralling into something hot and uncontrollable.

"Tell me," Morgana hissed back, and this time it sounded almost like an order. Morgause could have laughed at how perfect it was—her whore of a sister turning into a queen right before her eyes.

"You have a brother," she murmured, pushing up Morgana's skirt and gently stroking the skin beneath. " _Arthur_."

"Yes," Morgana breathed, her head tipping back as she panted, thrumming with arousal.

"He is older than you..." she continued in that same hushed, slightly sinister voice. "The next in line when your father dies. But, if _Arthur_ dies..."

Morgause's plan was devastatingly simple, and Morgana felt her orgasm shudder through her with a choked off cry.

"You want me to kill him," she exhaled, sighing when Morgause withdrew her hand and lay down beside her with her fingers resting on the slighter girl's belly.

"Go to him first," Morgause chuckled, "oh God, Morgana, I have waited so long to tell you. I know a spell strong enough to send the whole of Camelot to sleep." As she spoke, Morgana was manoeuvring herself up and straddling Morgause's waist. "it takes a few months to mature, but when it is ready, it'll be so easy."

"You have been thinking about this a lot," Morgana observed, still tingling from her recent orgasm and the adrenaline that came with the knowledge that she wasn't who she had been an hour ago. She was grappling with the idea of being important. It would take many more nights like this to completely convince her that it was all real, that Morgause and her words and her plans weren't all just dark dreams laced with desire.

" _Yes_." Morgause took Morgana's hand, pulling it down between her legs and groaning when the younger girl obediently slipped inside. "Yes, and when they're all sleeping, no one can stop us."

At that moment, Morgana watched Morgause, her chest rising and falling as she worked her open and her teeth biting into her bottom lip. She could only resist for a moment before she was leaning forwards and kissing her, dark hair hanging down either side of their faces and closing them off from the world.

They stayed like that for a while until Morgause came, and Morgana's hands moved up her body, fingertips swirling around prominent hipbones then cupping her breasts through the satin.

"What about the others?" she asked quietly, eyes glinting in the dark.

"Who?" In the next second Morgause was frowning, unable to properly process her half-sister's question when all she could feel was a heavy bliss.

"Merlin and Freya and Gwaine," Morgana replied then released Morgause, sliding from her and getting up from the bed. Suddenly she was just a girl again. "I can't leave them."

Morgause sat up, watching as Morgana glanced in the mirror and distractedly pushed her hair behind her ears. A few feet away, Cenred's body lay pale and heavy on the floor.

"They'll hold you back." Morgause got to her feet, moving until she was just behind Morgana and placed a hand against her neck, feeling her pulse point beating beneath her fingers.

"They won't." Morgana murmured, shaking her head.

"Not even Freya?"

At this, Morgana swallowed hard. "I have to take them with me, if I go."

Morgause considered her response for a moment. "Fine," she consented, "but you cannot tell them who you are, or what you plan to do."

"I wouldn't." Morgana slowly shook her head, thinking of how much Merlin adored Arthur. It suddenly occurred to her that it might actually be kinder to leave him behind. Would he ever forgive her if she did this?

But the thought of being somewhere Merlin wasn't filled Morgana with an indescribable dread, and she realised she was far too selfish to cross the Wall without the boy who had inexplicably become her everything.

Morgause was now taking her downstairs before she finally opened the front door for her.

"What will you do with...about Cenred?" Morgana spoke in an uncertain tone.

"Don't worry about that," Morgause sighed as she pressed a final kiss to Morgana's lips, "you did the right thing."

"When will I see you again?" Morgana asked her when she broke away.

"When it is time for Arthur to die," Morgause promised, looking straight into her eyes. "I will send for you. Hold on till then."

"I will." Morgana smiled and then, "I can't believe any of this is real."

"I know," the other assured her, "but you've got to. You're our last hope, Morgana. You're going to save us all."

And neither of them noticed the figure watching them: the man at the corner of the street with his heart in his throat. Lance's ears hummed with the conversation he had overheard, and it was a few moments before he came to his senses for long enough to start running.

***

When Morgana got back, Merlin stood so abruptly that he almost knocked his chair over. Gwaine moved with him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and trying to guide him back to his seat. But Merlin only shook him off and took a faltering step closer to Morgana. Even Freya was watching her, peeking from over the back of the sofa.

"It's done," Morgana muttered shortly. At this Merlin sagged a little, a hand lifting to run through his hair, but didn't say anything. It was only very rarely that he was lost for words, but now he felt as though something solid was lodged in his throat, and he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Are we safe?" Gwaine asked after a moment.

Morgana hesitated, thinking about how if Morgause had actually loved her husband, the Authorities would be slamming their hands against the front door at that moment. But as it was, there was silence.

"Yes," she brought herself to reply in as steady a voice as she could manage, "Morgause is sorting it. Cenred wasn't very well liked. He...he won't be missed." She tried to ignore the way something darkened in Merlin's eyes when she looked into them. He looked disappointed. In _her_.

Suddenly, she was filled with the strangest urge to apologise to him before remembering that Cenred had gotten everything he deserved...and who was Merlin to judge _her?_ She had done it for him after all.

"I'm going to sleep," she spoke stiffly, and for a moment she thought Merlin would just let her go. There was some sort of tenseness, an uncomfortable silence, and then:

"Hang on—let me get the kitten." Morgana gave a tiny smile when Merlin shuffled across the room and laid a hand on Freya's head, rubbing gently until she was looking dazedly up at him.

"Hey," she beamed back at him, poking out her tongue before yawning. Merlin grinned back, moving around the sofa to pull her to her feet and opening his arms so she could slot herself in the space there to press her face against his chest. It was at times like these where it was impossible to believe that she was actually older than he was, when the only noises she made were soft purrs of content.

"Bed," he said quietly, and Freya nodded, her hair brushing against his chin.

***

Gwaine soon moved to take the space on the sofa that Freya had just vacated, letting his head fall into his hands as Merlin, Freya and Morgana walked to their room. He would go check on them in an hour or so, to make sure they were all comfortable and maybe even asleep already. After that, he'd wait with one eye straying to look out the window every few minutes until the moon was high, and familiar keening sounds reached his ears.

Over time, he had gotten good at extracting Freya from the others, even though she liked to sleep in the middle. He would have to be extra careful that night though because it would be inexcusable to jostle Merlin when every expression he made had screamed pain.

A groan built at the back of Gwaine's throat, and for a moment he fought to suppress it until he just couldn't anymore. But what came out was more like a sob and before he knew it, he was curled on the sofa crying into his fists.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes on him as he stared down at the menu, trying to make the squiggles on the paper form into something that he could understand. The only thing that made sense to him was the small picture of a snowflake in the bottom right corner, so he found himself concentrating on that instead while chewing the inside of his cheek.

"I can't pick," he sighed eventually, putting the menu down and avoiding the blonde's gaze.

Arthur frowned. "There isn't even that much to choose from!"

At this Merlin merely shrugged and knew that the other was practically pouting.

"I _can't_ ," he insisted, wondering why he was so reluctant just to tell Arthur that he couldn't read. It wasn't like it was exactly his fault.

"Why not?" Arthur pressed, ducking his head slightly to try and get Merlin to look at his face.

"Because..." Merlin squirmed a little on his seat before sighing heavily. "I can't read it, all right? I don't know what's _on_ the menu."

Arthur didn't say anything for a moment until the waitress was finally there, asking for their order. But he still kept his eyes on Merlin when he asked for two chocolate croissants, a coffee, and a hot chocolate. When she left them, he leaned forwards slightly with his elbows on the table.

"You didn't go to school?" he asked in a careful voice.

Merlin only shrugged again. "There was no point. It was a choice between learning and eating. I would do the same again, if I had to." In a split second, his voice had taken on a defensive edge, the flush on his cheeks making his eyes seem bright.

"And how did you get this food? I trust you haven't been working since the moment you were born."

"Why are you asking me?" Merlin shot back with a challenging glare, "you know I stole it."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I'm not judging you," he replied evenly.

Merlin snorted. "Right. As if you haven't been judging me since the moment you saw me on your doorstep."

"I'm not judging you for _this_ ," Arthur corrected himself, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I hope you're not expecting me to thank you for that," Merlin told him shrewdly, "because I wasn't apologising. If society wasn't so fucked, kids wouldn't have to quit education just to survive."

"I know," the blonde answered curtly.

Merlin looked out of the window, reaching forwards to draw in the condensation on the glass: long twisting swirls which went on in endless circles. "The Wall should come down," he murmured quietly, applying further pressure to the window and making water drag down around his fingers, slipping across the glass.

"I know," Arthur repeated, and Merlin blinked in surprise, hand falling back into his lap as he stared at him.

"You do?"

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, although not entirely sure what he was going to say, but then they were interrupted by the waitress' return. She smiled warmly at Arthur, who spared her a glance and a nod, before setting down the mugs and plates. Merlin reached for the drink first and looked eagerly into it.

"It smells so good," he positively moaned, and Arthur shifted in his seat.

"I thought you'd prefer hot chocolate to coffee," the older man told him as he reached for his own mug.

"Why?" Merlin asked, blowing across the top of his cup and watching his breath cut through the steam.

"It's sweeter," Arthur replied, and Merlin's smile was dazzling.

***

The arrival of the food had effectively brought an end to their discussion on the Wall, and Arthur spent the next fifteen minutes berating Merlin for dipping his croissant in his hot chocolate, while the other, who still seemed very much like a kid at heart, refused to be put off.

"It tastes better like this," he insisted, and Arthur could do nothing but sigh and watch as Merlin murdered his meal. It was worth it though, he decided, when Merlin took a bite and his expression instantly grew dreamy, as though he might just melt into a chocolatey puddle on the floor.

"Where do you want to go next?" the blonde asked once the other had finished and was now lapping at the joints between his fingers for any smears of chocolate or crumbs he might have missed, in a way that was not at all distracting. Merlin shrugged, wrapping his hands around his mug even though it was empty, presumably for the warmth which still resided in the porcelain.

"I don't want a haircut," he suddenly began firmly, the instant Arthur was about to make his own suggestion.

This led him to hesitate. "Surely it must annoy you, getting in your eyes like that?" The moment he said it Arthur regretted it, especially when Merlin sunk against his chair back looking suddenly morose.

"I don't _want_ a haircut," the younger man repeated, arms moving to fold over his chest.

"Fine then." Arthur lifted his hands in defence, a little alarmed at Merlin's stubbornness.

He looked at Arthur for a moment before giving a little roll of his eyes and adding in a softer tone, "Sorry. I just...I don't like it when people tell me how I should look."

"Fair enough," Arthur replied almost instantly, now painfully aware of how he had been orchestrating Merlin's appearance since he had arrived. "We'll just go look round some of the other shops then, yeah?"

"Yeah." Merlin's lips twitched. "Okay."

***

Morgana stood by the front door for a few moments after Merlin and Arthur had taken their leave before she felt a hand on her arm and flinched automatically, tugging free of Gwen's grip.

"Sorry," Gwen muttered quickly, taking a step back. "I just, uhm...well, you still haven't really eaten."

For an instant, Morgana felt like snapping and saying that this was something she was already aware of, but she held back the retort and made do with a shrug instead.

"Merlin really did eat all the eggs," Gwen sighed, sounding unjustly forlorn. "But if you want, we can buy some more? I usually do the food shopping anyway, and we wouldn't need to go all the way into the city centre or anything. There's a supermarket in walking distance...it takes about two minutes." She smiled hopefully, and Morgana felt herself relax.

Whatever Arthur was, and whatever Morgana's plans were concerning him, Gwen made her feel safe: safe to be around, safe to talk to. Or maybe she was just stupid. Either way, Morgana almost felt bad considering the call she was awaiting from Morgause, which would be the run up to her abusing Gwen's trust in a way that could be considered unforgivable.

"Supermarket sounds good," she said eventually, trying for a small smile that made the other grin in response.

"Awesome," Gwen beamed then looked down at Arthur's dressing gown, which she was still swamped in. "I just need to get changed."

"Yeah," Morgana agreed, plucking at the pyjama top. "Me too."

"Right, well I'll leave some things on your bed if you want to have a bath or whatever first. Just pick what you want to wear."

With that Morgana followed her back upstairs and slipped into the bathroom while the other went to rummage through her wardrobe.

***

The bath was long and deep with shiny silver taps that reflected the yellow lighting. Morgana had already decided that the whole room reminded her of butter: soft and golden with towels piled up in stacks beside the tub.

It took her a few minutes to figure out the bath, twisting and pulling at the taps until hot water was splashing loudly against the bottom and swirling towards the plughole. Then it became a game of trying to get the plug in without scalding herself. It didn't work well, so by the time she was done, she was already soaked up to her elbows.

In the end, Morgana filled it up too high with hot water to be able to cool it down properly with the cold, and the heat in the little room was sweltering to the point of unbearable. But then she was sliding into the bath, and the water was looping lazily around her throat. At this point, it actually felt pretty damn perfect. After steeling herself for a few minutes, she sunk down beneath the surface, keeping her eyes wide open. She didn't have long to enjoy the view of the room though, shimmering above her, before the water got up her nose and she sprang back, spluttering and gasping.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, rubbing at her nose and coughing. After that, she didn't submerge herself completely again but still managed to get her hair so that it was dark and sopping, clinging to her back. The shampoo was new for her too, and she knew that she must look like a wide eyed child when she poured it into her hands and watched as it swirled on her palm. Back home washing had meant a basin in the bedroom, filled with lukewarm water, and a cracked bar of soap that was used to wash body and hair alike.

It took reading the instructions on each bottle carefully to find out which was used for which, and by the time she was finished, the bath water was grey and shot through with streaks of purple and green and pink from the various soaps, as well as fluffy with bubbles.

When Morgana got out of the water, her body was pink from the heat and the scrubbing, and she quickly snatched up a towel to cover herself up, nervously using it to rub through her hair in an attempt to stop it from dripping onto the tiled floor.

After much slipping and sliding, and some swearing, she made it back to the guest room before shutting the door behind her and dropping her towel with a small sigh. Her body was still damp and warm, but the water was no longer rolling off her, and she felt safe to walk without creating a trail of bubbles in her wake.

Waiting for her on the bed were several items of clothing, all presumably belonging to Gwen, or at least they _had_ belonged to Gwen at some stage in her life. Morgana found herself smiling in spite of herself when she realised that Gwen had stuck post-its on each item, telling Morgana what she thought went with what and, on a pair of shorts: _For whenever summer gets its arse into gear._

At this, she snorted a little and picked up the shorts, which were very short, and wondered if Gwen honestly thought she would still be here in the summer.

In the end she chose a black dress and tights with a soft, hooded grey jacket. It probably wouldn't be warm enough, but Morgana was sure Gwen would find her a coat or something anyway, and there was nothing else black that had been laid out for her. For a moment, as she picked up the dress, she could hear Morgause's voice by her ear, telling her how the colour suited her. At that that she instinctively started to shake the outfit out and prepared to pull it over her head.

Just as she was lifting it though, there was a knock on the door, and when she heard it open slightly, Morgana spun around to see Gwen, whose mouth was hanging open as she backed out quickly.

"Oh my God," she gasped with wide eyes. "Sorry, I thought you were still in the bathroom—" Before the other could say anything in reply, she'd shut herself back out in the corridor, leaving a perplexed Morgana staring after her.

She couldn't remember the last time a girl had been so quick to leave after seeing her naked body. She dressed swiftly after that, fumbling only for a moment with the tights as she struggled to pull them up when her legs still weren't completely dry. Once they were on, she pushed her wet hair off her face and left the room.

Gwen was waiting for her then, cheeks slightly pink. "I'm so sorry," she started again, floundering. "I didn't mean to walk in—"

"It's fine," Morgana reassured her with a smile to show her just how okay it was, "I was actually just wondering if you had a brush or something?" In truth, she really hadn't been wondering anything of the sort. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd brushed her hair, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more of Gwen's apologies either.

Gwen seemed grateful for the change of subject though and immediately beamed, "Of course! There's one in my room, hang on," before practically running back to her bedroom.

For a brief moment, Morgana surprised herself by finding her eyes drawn to Gwen's behind and then down to her bare ankles and feet as they padded across the floor.

There was no denying that Gwen was beautiful: there was just something effortlessly charming in the way she moved and spoke that gave Morgana the mad impulse to scoop her up and hold her. _Protect_ her. It was that same kind of feeling that she reserved only for Merlin and Freya—or perhaps it was something she felt around a person who was nothing but good and who didn't deserve anything bad to happen to them ever. She was still contemplating this when Gwen returned, brush in hand, and offered it to her.

"Thanks," Morgana grinned as she gratefully took it and, while Gwen watched, tentatively brought it to her head. In a split second however, she found herself almost being _tugged_ downwards and felt about twenty hairs being yanked from her scalp. " _Ow_ , oh my God!"

"Are you all right?" Gwen seemed to automatically reach forwards, fingers momentarily brushing against the other's hand.

"Yeah," Morgana sighed as she finished pulling the brush down, wincing when it finally became free. "That was like torture though."

At this Gwen hesitated, hand hovering at waist level now. "If you want," she began to offer in a tentative voice, "I can do it for you?"

Morgana blinked, taken aback. "Huh?"

Gwen shrugged. "I used to be a maid," she spoke with a grin, but the smile faded quickly. "I mean...your hair's really lovely, and I can help. To make it less torturous."

Morgana pondered for minute, finding it surprisingly easy to imagine Gwen working in a big house for some woman and combing their hair and cleaning their house and running their baths. What was even more surprising though was the stirring of jealousy she felt at that point, at the bottom of her stomach when she wondered who it was that Gwen had worked for.

But she decided against asking. "You can, if you want." she ended up answering cordially with a shrug, trying to not to let on how much she would need help to make her hair look like anything but a mess of tangles. But Gwen's smile was full of delight, and Morgana laughed when an eager hand grabbed hers before she was suddenly dragged into Gwen's room and sat down in front of a mirror.

With Gwen brushing her hair, Morgana hardly even felt the expected pain. The woman behind her talked nonstop, and she was content to just sit there and listen, strangely comforted by the gentle tug of the brush and the feel of Gwen's hands at the base of her skull as they skirted across the skin around her ears. Although by the time it was over, Morgana soon found out that Gwen had, in fact, worked for _Arthur_ since she was a little girl, and instead of being sated, the jealousy in her spiked unpleasantly.

"When did you start going out?" she had asked, trying not to seem too curious but watching Gwen closely in the mirror.

Gwen had shrugged. "We never really...went out. It kind of just happened. When Arthur moved out, it just sort of made sense that I went with him. I've basically lived with him all my life."

"And you love him."

It was a statement, but Gwen seemed to interpret it differently, because she answered:

"He's been there almost for as long as I can remember. How can I not love him?"

Morgana didn't point out that it was quite possible to know someone all your life and hate them just the same, but there was something in the way Gwen had spoken: an edge of confusion and bitterness, which stopped her. She guessed that Gwen already knew what she had been going to say, anyway.

"Done!" Gwen stood back from Morgana when she was finished, beaming at her in the mirror.

Morgana tentatively smiled back and reached up to touch her hair, which now ran in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders, dark and shiny. "Thank you," she murmured as she ran her fingers through it.

"Any time," Gwen assured her but then started to chuckle, saying, "come on. I've been listening to your stomach for the last half hour."

As she spoke, Morgana's belly seemed to agree by growling embarrassingly loud, and at this she immediately blushed.

"Er...right, yeah. Let's go."

***

Merlin slipped almost instantly on the first step he took outside the cafe.

Arthur had a brief moment of panic, where he envisioned the boy sprawling on the floor and drawing a hell of a lot of unwanted attention, before he reached out and steadied him, with a firm hand to his upper arm.

"Careful," he grumbled once Merlin had found his footing.

"Sorry," Merlin replied jovially, taking more delight than appropriate from the fact that Arthur had grabbed him. "I'll do my best not to fall flat on my face and embarrass you."

But the blonde only rolled his eyes and shrugged past him, marching off down the street. Merlin caught up quickly and proceeded to trot along at his side, gawping at everything. _Surprise, surprise,_ the blonde sarcastically thought to himself, slowly shaking his head.

"My hands are cold," he complained after a moment, and Arthur glanced at him to see his hands were hanging at his sides.

"Put them in your pockets then," Arthur muttered, pretending not to see the other pout as he buried his fists into the pockets of his jeans. What had Merlin expected anyway, for him to _hold_ them? They kept on walking in relative silence then, until the first snowflakes came down.

At this the younger man looked up and made a little squeaking noise when one of them landed on his forehead.

Arthur cast him a wry look. "Surely you're used to snow by now, Merlin."

"Yeah but," he started to say before he stuck out his tongue like he was a five year old, "it's still cool. And it's the only thing that's the same."

"What do you mean?" The blonde ducked his head as the snowfall became steadily heavier, blowing violently around the pair of them.

Merlin shrugged. "It snows just the same over the Wall as it does here."

"But no two snowflakes are the same," Arthur reminded him, "so they'll always be different, wherever they are."

"I guess..." Merlin gave another shrug, pulling his hands out from his pocket and stretching out his fingers then grinned when they landed on his alabaster skin and stayed there, perfectly frosted.

"How are they not melting?" Arthur asked upon noticing this and was momentarily distracted as he held out his own hands, watching as the flakes dissolved upon contact with his skin.

"Your hands are probably just warmer than mine," Merlin chuckled softly without looking at Arthur. A second later, the snow on his hands turned into little droplets of cold water, and the faint glow that had resided in Merlin's eyes faded into something unnoticeable.

"Put yours back in your damn pockets then," Arthur groused before leading them across the street.

"What's the point if we're going inside?" Merlin asked, as they turned into another shop.

"Shut up," Arthur told him, but the response was decidedly half-hearted.

It was a bookshop.

"Why are we here?" Merlin asked, ignoring Arthur's instruction and still standing on the welcome mat.

"Just because you can't read, doesn't mean you can't appreciate a good book," the blonde sighed, picturing the other's curious blue eyes staring closely at the back of his head. "Can you not just stand there, please? It's bad for business, having a scrawny thing like you blocking the entrance."

At first Merlin glared at him but otherwise seemed to take the insult in his stride. Or at least, he understood that Arthur wasn't being serious.

"I _do_ appreciate books," he admitted, as Arthur led him further into the shop. His fingers trailed lightly over the spines as he thought back to when Gaius had sat him on his knee and read to him as a child. He could remember leaning back against the old man's chest and hearing his voice rumble through him, as he pressed small hands to the pictures on each page. For the second time that day, Merlin felt his eyes begin to water, and he rubbed at them angrily.

"Are you all right?" Arthur was looking at him with some concern, when his hands fell away from his eyes.

"Yeah," he murmured a little gruffly, "'I'm fine."

"Hmm..." Arthur was biting his bottom lip, and Merlin couldn't help but find the simple quirk endearing. "We can go, if you want?"

"No," Merlin replied, shaking his head. "I don't want to." He swallowed then looked about for something to cover up his moment of weakness. "Are there any picture books?" he added, clearing his throat.

At that moment, the blonde's worried expression turned smoothly into a smirk.

"Picture books? Really?"

"Well, how else am I supposed to enjoy a book?" Merlin asked crossly before stalking away to see if he couldn't find the kids' section by himself. Arthur watched him for a second, before smiling and following behind.

In the end, it was the magazine rack that Merlin found first and made a beeline for—and Arthur was surprised when the younger man seemed to know what he was looking for when he instinctively picked up the latest copy of _Camelot Now_. The blonde wasn't even sure why anything about Merlin surprised him anymore when God knew he'd only known him for about a day.

But he wondered if the boy hadn't realised that he had followed him, because after a furtive glance left and right, he was slipping the magazine up beneath his jumper.

There was a moment when Arthur was walking forwards, inches away from grabbing Merlin and demanding he put the magazine back before dragging him out of the shop. However, in the next split second he hesitated, feeling as if something inside him was breaking at the sight of Merlin when he wrapped his arms around his waist and hugged there tightly, as if he were protecting what was underneath.

Arthur took a slow breath. "Ah, _Camelot Now_ ," he sighed, reaching past Merlin and plucking a copy of the magazine up, causing the other to flinch in surprise.

"You read it?" Merlin asked, his grip around his waist tightening slightly.

"Sure," Arthur lied easily, "all the time."

Merlin lifted an eyebrow. "You do know that it's pretty much dedicated to you and the other Knights of Camelot, right?"

Arthur had in fact known, but for some reason he'd been counting on the fact that Merlin wouldn't. "Well, who doesn't like seeing a poster of their own face, blown up to about five times its average size and then plastered across a two page spread?"

"Right," Merlin began, shifting uncomfortably, "so you're gonna buy it?"

"Yup...I'll lend it to you, if you want." Arthur flashed him a wide grin.

Suddenly the other man felt a little wobbly on his feet. He knew that Arthur had worn braces when he was younger, but they had somehow failed to straighten out a slight crookedness in his teeth. It was a tiny imperfection that made Merlin's heart swell with affection, and it was round about then that he realised that no matter how much of a prat Arthur might be, Merlin had been too far gone before he had even met the guy. There honestly was no going back now.

"Okay," he muttered softly, even though he was pretty sure Arthur _didn't_ read _Camelot Now_. It wasn't even a good magazine, and he only knew what it was called because of all the times people in the newsagents had flicked through it, reading snippets aloud in scornful voices, when all Merlin wanted to do was tear out the pictures. Perhaps Arthur had seen him looking at it, with no doubt a slightly wistful expression. It was either that, or he knew Merlin had in fact sneaked away a copy...he really hoped Arthur hadn't noticed. With every moment he could feel his face growing hot at the thought, so when Arthur moved off towards the counter, he returned it to the rack, quick as a flash.

The minute that the blonde heard the sounds of Merlin slipping the magazine back, he felt something warm expanding in his chest as he paid.

***

"So, I presume you get these for the pictures," Arthur smirked as he waved _Camelot Now_ underneath the other's nose as they left the shop with a smug expression on his face.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Arthur, I asked if you would _fuck_ me this morning. It's not like I'm keeping it a secret how I feel about you...about the way you _look_ anyway," he amended quickly before the older man could go on and enlarge his head.

Arthur didn't seem to like being reminded about Merlin's proposition earlier that day though, because his mouth downturned slightly at the corners. "You're just a kid," he muttered, running the hand that wasn't clutching the stupid magazine through his hair. "I mean, it's not like I expected you to be a bloody virgin or anything, but—"

"I'm not 'just a _kid'_." Merlin was red to the tips of his ears. "And who I sleep with is _my_ business."

Arthur looked at him, but didn't say anything more as they neared where his car was parked. It set him on edge, thinking about him on the other side of the Wall with other men. _Who_ had Merlin slept with? Who was Morgana to him? Why the hell was Merlin here in the first place, shoving his way into Arthur's life and establishing himself so efficiently that Arthur was already having trouble imagining what it would be like when he left?

He watched as Merlin clambered into the car before getting in himself and gripping the steering wheel.

"If you're planning on staying with Guinevere and me for any amount of time, you're going to have to explain yourself to me, and I mean _everything_ ," he began slowly, "I want to know who you are and who Morgana is. I want to know what you did before arriving at my house and how the hell you got over the Wall without Passes."

At this Merlin leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, and Arthur noticed, with a funny pang, that he had put his seatbelt on himself without difficulty.

" _You can just keep on wanting then_ ," was the soft reply.

Arthur sighed. It was what he had expected. "Fine." He started up the engine on the car, already uncomfortably aware of how there was no way he would chuck Merlin out until he knew it was safe, and of how apparent it was that Merlin was aware of this idea, too. "But when we get home, I'm teaching you how to read."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Morgana was sure that the plan was for Morgause to perfect her spell. Then she would take Freya, Merlin and Gwaine over the Wall and leave Gwaine in charge of the other two before she'd carry on alone to do whatever was required of her—simply because she could not endure the thought of letting Morgause down or of seeing Arthur take over in ruling Camelot. For he would no doubt let life continue just as before, with a great crack through its centre that grew wider with every sorcerer Aredian caught and Uther killed, until it would be all Morgana could do to stop herself and her friends from slipping through.

She spent a week waiting for Morgause to get in contact with her. A week of having to look away whenever she saw Merlin surreptitiously touching the pictures of Arthur Pendragon which he kept in his pocket, and a week of feeling unbearably cold at night even with Freya snuggled to her left, because she hadn't felt Morgause's breath on her neck or her hand on her thigh in so long.

But it wasn't like it was a boring wait. Morgana had plenty to keep her occupied, despite how Gwaine had ordered that neither she nor Merlin worked for at least a fortnight. For one thing, there were Merlin's nightmares, which had woken them both without fail every night since Cenred. He would jerk upright, gasping loudly and sometimes even yelling, but then curl instinctively away from Freya as if something in his brain was reminding him that she needed to rest.

Morgana could never sleep through it though. She would sit up seconds after Merlin and crawl over to him to bundle him up into her arms, shushing him gently and running her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she would whisper, choking back her own tears as she held him. Eventually he would fall back to sleep with his head resting on her shoulder, and she would lay him down before dozing off herself, slipping in and out of consciousness every time Merlin so much as twitched in his sleep.

On the seventh night of hearing no word from Morgause, Morgana was drifting on the edge of slumber, only just kept awake by the sound of Gwaine watching TV in the front room. She was subconsciously waiting for the gasp that would indicate that Merlin had woken, but on that night it was a very different noise that caused her to spring to her feet—the same time as Freya let out an unearthly scream and twisted beneath her blanket:

A loud knock at the door.

In an instant, Morgana whipped around to look down at Freya, as the pounding continued in an echoing mantra of fist on wood. " _Gwaine,"_ she called, dropping to her knees beside Freya and pushing the girl's hair back from her face. "Freya, honey, it's okay...Gwaine, _get in here_!"

"'Gana," Merlin mumbled, opening his eyes blearily and sitting up. "What's going on? Who's at the door?"

"No idea." Morgana flinched back as Freya let out another cry, limbs contorting as she transformed.

"Shit," Merlin muttered under his breath, and he was on his feet in an instant, Morgana distantly noticing how slightly shaken he now looked. It was impossible to tell whether it was because he had just been brought back from the brinks of a dream or if it was down to the events which were currently unfolding.

"Get Gwaine," Morgana told him, having to yell over the knocking. "He's not answering. Hurry, Merlin." With those words she'd wanted to keep her panic hidden, but at this point she felt as if it was overflowing.

Luckily though, Merlin didn't have to be told twice, and when he paused, it was only to briefly stoop down and touch Freya's hair before darting from the room.

Then the knocking had stopped but only because their front door had been torn from its frame and was now lying splintered on the floor.

"What the _hell—_ " Merlin immediately stepped forwards, horrified and suddenly wide awake.

There were seven of them, and he could have taken them easily with a flash of his eyes and a well aimed curse, but two of them had Gwaine's arms behind his back. He couldn't risk the repercussions of any dangerous magic.

Besides, the fear Merlin had of the Authorities was so profound that it was all he could do to keep breathing when he was faced with a room full of them. These were Aredian's men: the equivalent of Camelot's Knights, only with a much more sinister purpose. It was the Authorities who had dragged off Will that night and who had seen him executed, the same way it had been the Authorities who'd arrested Gaius. Merlin had spent his whole life hating them as well as hiding from them, and now here they were—ready to take away yet another person who he was not prepared to lose.

"What do you want?" he asked, determined to sound fearless, but it came out more like a croak. Every one of them was masked, and it was near impossible to tell whether they were looking at him or not, but he guessed that they were, and his insides felt like water.

The one who had Gwaine's right arm spoke, and his voice was emotionless. Dead. "We have come to arrest an occupant of this house for the use of sorcery, transformation and murder."

At that moment, Merlin's eyes quickly locked with Gwaine's for less than a second, but it was enough time for the older man, Merlin's mentor and best friend, to give an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

"There are no magic users here," Merlin claimed as firmly as he could, "you must be at the wrong—"

He hadn't finished his sentence when all of a sudden there was a mind-twisting shriek from the bedroom, and his heart was in his throat.

Freya: sorcerer, transformer and murderer. Merlin didn't understand how such an accurate description could be, at the same time, so very wrong.

At once upon hearing the piercing scream, the three who weren't restraining Gwaine advanced, heading towards the source of the noise, and Merlin turned. No one had gotten two steps when Morgana ran from the bedroom, catching Merlin's arm.

"It's too soon," she gasped, fingers tightening. "She never changes this early, Merlin. She's going to rip the house apart."

As she finished speaking, there was a low, familiar growl which seeped into the room.

"Get behind me," Merlin hissed, taking courage from the fact that none of the Authorities had moved since Morgana's arrival and from the knowledge that it was _him_ Freya listened to. Gwaine and Morgana were getting better at it, but it had always been Merlin who she was closest to in animal form.

"Freya," he spoke calmly as he moved forwards, calling her gently. He wasn't sure what his plan was now—wild thoughts of jumping onto her back and having her fly them all from the house were running through his head. But for now, he just carefully murmured her name. " _Freya."_

She appeared slowly, her great head bowed and leather wings clamped to her back as if she knew that stretching them would cause more damage than it was worth. Merlin had always thought she was as beautiful like this as she was in human form, perhaps even more so. Her hair wasn't black but a very dark midnight blue. It was shiny to look at, and light seemed to run in rivulets down her back. To the touch it was so soft that, on calmer nights when they were younger, Merlin had fallen asleep with his head leaning against her warm flank.

Now he reached out his hand, coaxing her forwards.

"I've got you," he promised, voice wavering ever so slightly when she cocked her head curiously to the side, great black eyes taking in him and Morgana and Gwaine and then the Authorities who were advancing towards her.

She let out a high whine before taking a step forwards, padded feet flexing to reveal metallic claws which had gouged scratches from steel and on skin too many times to count.

"That's it..." Merlin moved closer to reach out, and slowly they met in the middle with his hand nestling in the hot space behind her ear so that she tilted into the touch.

They were there for a moment as Merlin's heart thrummed in his chest, at odds with Freya's controlled, heavy breaths. Then he took one more step, intending to put his half-formed plan into action by swinging up onto her back. He had never done it before, but he guessed now that there was a time and a place for everything...

That was when he suddenly felt strong hands on his arms start to wrench him backwards.

Freya only looked confused until the Authorities who had seized him twisted his arms up, causing him to let out a strangled yell of pain. As soon as this happened, she immediately opened her mouth and roared, wings unfurling uncontrollably and breaking through the walls as if they were made of paper. In a split second she was standing there immensely, looking like someone had taken the darkness of the night and moulded it into an animal with stars for eyes.

" _No!"_ Gwaine shouted behind Merlin, struggling profusely as Freya advanced and as the wind whistled down through the broken house.

"She's just a girl!" Morgana was screaming, the only one who didn't have men holding her back, " _leave her alone!"_ But they ignored her, and Merlin felt the hands gripping him go slack then shove him away. All of them, apart from the two holding Gwaine, began stalking close to Freya, cornering her.

"Fly," Merlin heard himself whisper as he watched her, his heart breaking. "Dammit, _fly_ , Freya!" His voice rose in volume, and she looked at him instantly. He knew it would only take one beat of her wings and she'd be out of here, but he felt an echoing pang inside when he wondered who would take care of her then. Who would be there who comfort her through the aftershocks of another bad night, or laugh when she got all excited about something on the television?

Merlin knew he was crying when Freya's fierce expression softened into one that was clouded and scared, and he hated himself for that, but all he could think of was how she was just a kid like Will had been and how he hadn't been able to save him, either.

Freya's wings extended even further, but the movement was laced with uncertainty as the Authorities crowded her. At this point Merlin noticed with a sickening feeling in his stomach that each had a gun and several knives strapped to their belts. The great cat yowled at them, bearing pointed white teeth, but the men just kept on advancing...

Right up until the moment she lifted her front paw and swiped at the nearest man, sending him skittering backwards with his mask in shreds and a red welt running from hairline to chin.

Instantly, the man had his wrist up to his mouth and was ordering something into the small communication device he had strapped there. Merlin couldn't hear what he was saying over Freya's incessant roaring, but he found out within moments.

More of them were arriving now— teeming into the house through spaces where walls had once stood and gathering like insects around Freya with ropes and nets and everything she had ever confessed a fear of to him when they were huddled together during the day time.

"Merlin, Morgana, _go!_ " Gwaine's voice sounded as if from a very long way away, and Merlin turned to see him being held by four people whose hands were moving to cover his mouth.

Then Morgana's hand was suddenly in his, and she was pulling him away. "Come on, Merlin."

Instinctively, Merlin tried to tug himself out of her grip, but she was clinging on too tightly, "No, Morgana, we can't leave them. I can use my magic—"

"Merlin..." Tears were running down Morgana's cheeks and over her nose when she cupped Merlin's face in her hands. "If you were going to do that, you would have already done it. This isn't your fault. Now _come on_."

As they stumbled from the wreckage of what used to be their home, they heard cries following them. Things like, "Someone, stop those two!" and "Go after them _now!_ " chased them down the streets.

It was like they had gone back in time, Merlin thought hollowly, as he was dragged onwards, kicking up the icy slush in the gutters with every step. They had returned to that in-between space where it was just Morgana and him, completely alone, and at this stage, it didn't seem like there was any going back.

"I should have done something," he panted as they ran, his hand slipping in Morgana's. "I should've used my magic."

"Well, me too," Morgana huffed, tightening her hold on him. "But there were too many, and—" They careered round a corner, slipping and sliding in the snow. "They would have only taken us, too."

Merlin struggled to find the logic in her words: if he had used magic, they wouldn't have been able to take _anyone_ because all the Authorities would have been dead. Although, Merlin wasn't sure to which extent he would have been able to control the curse—they all might've ended up dead, had he cast a spell.

"Where are we going?" he asked, as the running began to take its toll and the injuries courtesy of Cenred started to ache.

"We can't stay this side of the Wall," Morgana answered grimly, slowing down just a little when she sensed Merlin was lagging. "We have to get to the other side."

"Without Passes?" Merlin gasped, trying to catch at least some of his breath.

Morgana exhaled sharply and sighed, "I'm sure it can be done."

"We should go to Arthur's house," he suddenly spoke without thinking, and it was only once the words had left his mouth that he appreciated how stupid they sounded. With that, it took him by great surprise when Morgana replied,

"That's not a bad idea...the Authorities would never look for us there, would they?"

Merlin opened and closed his mouth in disbelief, but then Morgana shushed him, and they continued their journey in silence.

***

Morgause told the Authorities that she didn't want their damn gold when they sent someone to come to tell her that the monster had been found.

"But they wish to thank you for the great service you have done to Camelot, helping them track down the beast," the messenger insisted, looking confused when she refused to take the money he was offering.

"I don't give a fuck what they _wish to do_ ," she hissed, "just tell me: did any of them get away?"

In response, the man nodded slowly. "Two of the people living there escaped, but it was just two teenage kids. I don't even think they had magic."

Morgause's nostrils flared. She had hoped that Merlin would have been captured as well as the other two, leaving Morgana to get away on her own. It was annoying that she had spent time working on a magic that would cause Freya to change unexpectedly, only for it not to completely pay off. Still, she guessed it could have gone worse.

"They don't have magic," she spoke instantly, "so you can tell the Authorities to stop hunting them."

"But they were housing the sorceress! It's against the law to protect a magic user!"

Morgause sized up the boy before her. His cheeks were slightly flushed after he had no doubt run to meet her. She wondered whether his father was one of the men who had broken into Gwaine's house that night. It wasn't that Morgause had ever been very close with the man, and she had no quails about sacrificing him in order to get Morgana over the Wall, but still...

She reached out a hand and wrapped it around the boy's throat.

"You are a worm," she breathed in his face, tightening her hold until he was turning red and choking.

"And once I am finished with you, I'll leave your body where they'll find you—your last message can be of how easy it is to kill the son of a devil."

He died writhing in her hands, and she dropped him when she was finished, feeling suddenly relaxed. The boy might have been no one, of course, and perhaps his father was nobody but a peasant who lived a few streets down, but killing had always had a strangely calming effect on her and, with a quick flash of her eyes, the boy was rolling away. His body jolted along and left a gruesome trail of blood as his face smashed against the floor every time he turned over. Morgause watched him go until he was out of sight, and then with another burst of magic the blood was gone, as if nothing had ever happened.

***

Gwen hadn't been lying when she said that the supermarket was only a very short walk away because they were there within minutes. Morgana had her jacket zipped up to her chin and was wearing a pair of gloves and a hat that she had lent her so she didn't feel much of the cold as she walked.

"The air conditioning in here is ridiculous," Gwen sighed as they entered the shop, "you might want to keep your layers on."

Morgana instantly understood what she meant when the temperature inside was almost exactly the same as it was outside, and instinctively she tugged the woolly hat slightly lower over her ears. She was used to much worse, but it didn't mean she wouldn't take advantage of the extra clothes.

"What are we looking for?" she asked, gazing around and trying not to look too filled with awe. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a supermarket, and the sight of _so much_ food had her mouth watering from the start.

"Eggs, bread," Gwen ticked the words off her fingers, "milk, tea bags..." She shrugged. "Just anything you want, really. Here, we'll take a basket each." And she picked two baskets from a pile by the doors, giving one to Morgana, who clutched it tightly in a gloved fist.

The first things she found were boxes of icing sugar, and she read the labels carefully before holding one up for Gwen's inspection. "Do we need this?" she asked.

Gwen grinned, "Why not? Tastes good." And she gestured for Morgana to put it in the basket.

They continued like this round the whole shop, with Morgana picking up anything she thought looked interesting, reading the labels, and then asking the other woman if they ought to get it. Of course Gwen said yes every time and grinned extra wide when she picked up something that was actually on their list.

Morgana didn't even realise how much fun she was having until she laughed openly at Gwen, who could now barely be seen because of how much food was in her basket.

"Wait," she grinned, "let me take some!"

"But yours is full too," Gwen pointed out, her head just visible over the mountain of boxes and packages.

Morgana giggled at the sight and shrugged. "I can take a bit more. I'm taller than you."

"Whatever." Gwen looked like she was about to stick out her tongue when Morgana gave her a condescending little pat on the head, still laughing.

After a few minutes, they had evenly spread out the shopping, although there was still too much for the pair of them.

"I seriously don't know why Arthur ever lets you do the shopping." Morgana was a little breathless when they finally reached the counter, and began unloading their purchases.

This time, Gwen's smile was sad. "He's a busy guy—doesn't have time to do the groceries."

"You mean busy with work?" Morgana pressed.

"He's a Knight of Camelot." Gwen shrugged. "I mean, it's not as dangerous as it used to be, and mostly he's just out training the others, but when he's not doing that, he's usually just out by himself."

"Doing what?" Morgana moved around Gwen to start packing the food into plastic bags.

"I don't know...he goes out walking, sometimes for hours." Gwen seemed uncomfortable at this point, and Morgana suddenly felt the need for information subside. They finished paying in silence then headed out of the shop.

Once they were back out on the street, it became a game of trying not to fall over whilst being weighed down by so many bags. Morgana fell over twice, and both times she let out shrieks of laughter, snorting when Gwen chased after the bags she'd dropped as they slid away. Afterwards, the other girl would drag them back, shaking her head in disbelief and reaching down to heave Morgana to her feet.

"Thanks," she beamed at Gwen, relieving her of her half of the shopping.

***

By the time they got back to the house, both of them were soaking with snow in their hair, clinging to each other as Gwen fumbled for her keys.

"Arthur and M-Merlin might be back now," Gwen stammered through her grin, as she got the door open and stamped her feet on the door mat to rid her shoes of snow. Morgana curiously followed suit then stumbled into the hallway.

"Merlin?" she called, kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her jacket.

"In here!" Merlin's voice sounded from the living room, and Morgana sighed in relief. She made her way to the door and looked in to see him and Arthur sitting side by side on the sofa, a magazine spread open on Arthur's lap.

"Hey," Merlin grinned up at her, "I thought you'd been abducted, but Arthur said you'd probably just gone shopping."

At that, Morgana looked at the blonde, who met her gaze steadily. "Yeah, we did," she evenly replied, trying not to feel unnerved by the way Arthur was looking at her. She didn't like how close his leg was to Merlin's: so close that even the slightest shift would have them touching.

But Gwen suddenly appeared at her shoulder. "Arthur, you have to help me get this stuff to the kitchen. We, uh, went a bit mental."

"Guinevere, when do you _not_ go mental at the supermarket?" Arthur asked, half-laughing.

In response, Gwen only shrugged with a wide smile on her face. She knew that she'd never gotten over having free reign over what food they had in the house since moving to their own place.

Still, Arthur had the decency to look a little surprised when he saw just how much she had bought.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered before stooping down to pick up as many bags as he could. Gwen only just moved quickly enough to avoid him shoving past her.

Morgana walked over to sit beside Merlin, who stretched out like a cat.

"Arthur's teaching me to read," he told her gleefully like a child, fingers tapping on the front of the magazine. "And he bought me new clothes and stuff." He gave a slight shrug, eyes glimmering eagerly. "Was nice. I really think we're safe here, Morgana. For now, I mean. Then when we're ready, we can go and get Freya and Gwaine. Arthur and Gwen might even help us."

"Yeah," Morgana took a deep breath, lifting an arm to rest it over Merlin's shoulders, "they might do."

She let her head fall back against the sofa, eyes shutting tightly as she tried not to think about how it was already getting harder to think of a good precedent to kill Arthur—who she still hadn't allowed herself to think of as her brother.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Gwen found herself tightly locked in Arthur's arms that night. She was surprised at how strange it felt—how ridiculous it was that it felt _wrong_ to be embraced by the man she had been sleeping next to for the last four years.

"Are you all right?" she murmured, lips brushing against the pulse point in his neck. His skin was slightly clammy, so she pressed a hand over his stomach to calm him. She knew Arthur's body inside out, and she knew how to read him. At that moment he was tense and uncertain, and making him feel better had been Gwen's job for too long for her not to do so now.

The blonde shrugged his shoulders. "Today was strange," he replied hollowly.

Gwen sighed, sinking deeper into his arms and breathing him in. " _I know_."

In her mind though, she was going over the events of the day, some parts being more vivid than others. For instance, there had been the moment when she had walked into the bathroom to see Morgana with her towel round her legs and her green eyes flickering with curiosity...

Something stirred inside Gwen, and suddenly she found herself pulling away from Arthur with a jerk.

"Guinevere," he uttered in surprise then followed her motion, rolling after her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm just tired."

There was a brief pause. "Right." Arthur rolled back so that he was looking up at the ceiling and sighed heavily before the pair of them fell into a familiar night-time silence.

***

Merlin had crawled into bed beside Morgana and was leaning on his elbows, fiddling with a loose string from the pillowcase.

"You should sleep, Merlin," Morgana mumbled, hooking an arm around his waist to tug him down, and he huffed out a laugh when his elbows gave way and caused him to face-plant into the pillow.

"Maybe," he agreed, twisting his neck to look at her through his fringe. She smiled at him, leaning forwards until their noses touched.

They lay like that for a long while until Morgana's eyelids had closed and her breathing had finally started to even out. But that was when Merlin took a deep breath and murmured:

"Hey...Morgana?"

The other let out a small, exasperated noise before replying, "Yeah?"

For a moment there was silence.

"Do you think I need a haircut?"

At that, Morgana cracked an eye open to look appraisingly at Merlin's dark mop.

"Gwen brushed my hair today," she whispered as she reached over and ruffled his unruly locks.

"Ha!" Merlin's eyes sparkled. "It needed it."

"Hey!" Morgana's eyes drifted shut, but she was smiling. "It was fine, thank you. It just wanted a bit of...neatening up."

" _Sure_ ," Merlin drew the word out sarcastically, tangling his fingers with Morgana's.

"Felt nice," she muttered quietly, the words slurring slightly in her tiredness. He watched her face as it slowly smoothed out, lines folding away into unblemished, pale skin.

"You like her?" he asked, and she answered with a small shrug.

"What's not to like?" She squeezed Merlin's hand slightly. "Go to sleep now, Merlin."

He nodded even though she couldn't see him and settled down, his own eyes closing. "You didn't even tell me whether I needed a haircut," he grumbled, tugging the duvet up with his free hand so that it settled over both their shoulders.

But Morgana was already asleep.

***

Merlin's dreams that night weren't quite as violent as usual. He woke at around two in the morning with a quiet gasp, his limbs stiffening as he lay there feeling the sweat cooling on his skin. Morgana stirred beside him, subconsciously pulling him closer. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, even when he knew it only worked to trap the awful images in rather than blocking them out.

The dream had started off with Cenred. His memory always dragged up the worst of what had happened, playing it back to him in mind-achingly bright colours that were even more distorted and uglier than the real thing. After that though, it had shifted into new territories of fear—the things he kept locked away in the corners of his mind were yanked to the forefront like kicking and screaming children, and the only reason he hadn't jerked upright with a piercing scream of his own was because that had never been the way Merlin reacted to the things that truly scared him most.

When he dreamt about how Will would have looked with a noose tightened around his throat, he always woke up panting and cold, tears stinging around the edges of his eyes.

" _Merlin_ ," Morgana uttered softly, always awake when he was, always unable to sleep when a nightmare had shaken him.

"Yeah?" he whispered back, feeling the hot tears making their way down into his ears and over his neck.

"I've got you."

There was a slight pause. "I know."

In response, she made a quiet noise of content, and Merlin fell back to sleep with his face pressed against her shoulder.

***

The next day, Arthur got out of bed with a yawn and a stretch and an exciting sense of purpose lacing his movements. Gwen shifted sleepily towards him then moved back again when he didn't return to the bed. He watched her carefully, eyes roving over her pretty face as he reminded himself why she was there and why he loved her.

He did it every morning, and he hated how every morning it got that much harder.

Now he made his way to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and rid himself of the muggy feeling that sleep always left heavy in his limbs. In the mirror the blonde looked flushed from the heat of the house and his bed, and he tried to see what others saw in him. What Merlin saw in all those pictures.

It wasn't that he thought he was ugly—quite the contrary, he knew he was good looking but so was Morgana, and who was she? A homeless girl with absolutely nothing, apart from the equally impoverished boy who went with her everywhere.

_But perhaps he's more important than what I've got. Perhaps he's better than the money,_ Arthur thought, picturing Merlin's face when he'd been caught on the kitchen floor yesterday, or when the snowflakes had landed in his hand.

He sighed, shaking his head and wondering when he'd become such a sentimental fool.

After he left the bathroom, he headed downstairs to the dining room, sweeping his fingers over the wooden tabletop as he walked to a cabinet of glasses, which had several drawers underneath. He pulled the second one open and rummaged through, pulling out several pieces of cream coloured paper and pencils.

Then he set them down carefully on the table and placed _Camelot Now_ beside them, his expression a little scathing as he observed the front cover, which showed several of his knights in training. He thought he could vaguely remember the cameras being there while they worked. It had no doubt been very fucking annoying.

Arthur shook his head and lowered himself into the seat at the head of the table, letting his face drop into his hands as he waited for Merlin.

He was sitting there for perhaps twenty minutes before there was the sound of someone creeping down the stairs, and he looked up just in time to see the boy poking his head round the door.

"Oh," he said, stepping inside and grinning tentatively, "hey, Arthur."

"Good morning." Arthur stood up, wondering why Merlin sounded surprised to see him. They had spoken yesterday, and he had specifically told him to be downstairs by ten. It was currently twenty to eleven. "You're late."

"Didn't sleep well," the younger man half-yawned with a shrug then ventured further into the room and looked curiously at the paper. "Are we seriously doing this? Like, for real?"

"Yes," Arthur replied evenly as he followed Merlin's gaze and not for the first time contemplated whether he was already getting a little out of his depth here.

"Awesome," Merlin beamed, dropping into the empty chair to the right of the blonde, who immediately took in how the kid looked in pyjamas—obviously still warm from sleep and with his hair in disarray. He reached forwards to drag _Camelot Now_ closer to him, flipping it open and practically vibrating with excitement. "Which bit am I gonna read first?"

"I actually thought that teaching you the alphabet might be the best way to start," Arthur gently tugged the magazine out from beneath Merlin's fingers, and replaced it with a blank piece of paper.

"Oh, okay," Merlin replied, frowning down at the paper. "There's nothing to read here," he informed Arthur, holding up the sheet as if that might make the predicament clearer to the other man.

"I am aware," he spoke dryly, "it's because first you're going to do a bit of writing." And he had no idea whether this was the right order to be teaching Merlin, or whether this was the right thing to do full stop, but he got to his feet and moved to stand behind Merlin, leaning over him and placing one of the pencils in his hand.

Merlin looked at it uncomprehendingly. "I don't know how to write," he claimed confusedly, moving forwards in his seat before twisting around to look back at Arthur.

And Arthur noted how the boy gasped slightly at finding their faces suddenly so close. He smirked, watching as Merlin's face flushed pink.

"That's why I'm teaching you, Merlin," he spoke slowly and clearly, as if it were a small child he was addressing, "now hold the pencil properly."

The younger man swallowed then looked back at his hand, curling his fist around the pencil in an alarmingly possessive manner, and Arthur couldn't help but laugh as he reached over and carefully rearranged Merlin's fingers until he was holding the writing utensil as it was made to be held.

"The first letter is _A._ " The blonde took the chair beside Merlin and picked up another pencil, stencilling out the capital clearly in his neat curling script.

" _A_ ," Merlin repeated quietly before setting his own pencil to paper and drawing out the shape in sharp lines.

"Write it again," Arthur instructed shortly, and Merlin's tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated. His second _A_ was slightly better—the line in the middle didn't stretch so far across, and it wasn't as big. "Keep writing it." Arthur placed his hand over his, trying to ignore the boy's shudder at the slight touch, and carefully dragged the pencil across the page to help him draw it out. "Do you recognise it?" he asked, noticing the contemplative expression on the other's face.

Merlin chewed his lip, forehead screwed up into three little lines as he thought. "Yeah," he said and suddenly sat up, pulling his hand from Arthur's and snatching up the magazine again. Arthur smiled as he watched him flick through it with new intent before jabbing his finger at one of the words. "There!" he exclaimed excitedly, "I see that word all the time."

"You'd probably see it a lot on my mail," the blonde mused, "and there's a space for it in Gwen's contact list, on her phone."

"Huh?" Merlin looked from the word to Arthur's face, frowning.

"That's my name, _Mer_ lin," Arthur smirked as Merlin let out a soft 'oooh' of understanding.

"It looks nice," he complimented, picking up his pencil again and attempting to copy out Arthur's name. Arthur watched, eyebrows raised, as the kid butchered his signature in an untidy scrawl across the paper. It took him at least five minutes.

"Yeah, stunning," Arthur chuckled, patting Merlin on the back when he saw his crestfallen expression. "Don't worry. Practice makes perfect. You want to see how your name looks?"

Merlin suddenly beamed and nodded eagerly. "Yes, please!"

Arthur smiled, and wrote out Merlin's name beneath his own, taking care to make it look gorgeous although it wasn't hard because _anything_ would look good in comparison to Merlin's transcript.

"Woah." the younger man was practically leaning into him as he stared down at the beautiful penmanship. "My name looks fucking _amazing_!"

"Language," Arthur reprimanded, dislodging him with a gentle shrug, but unable to stop smiling.

***

By the time Morgana and Gwen got downstairs, Merlin could write out both his and Arthur's names without looking at any of his first attempts, and his capital _A_ no longer looked so offensive.

"Wow," Morgana murmured as she sat on the table beside where Merlin was working, brushing her fingers over the pencil marks. Arthur opened his mouth intending to order her to get down but shut it again when he caught Gwen's eye from across the room. The sigh he let out was very controlled.

"I'm going to learn yours next," Merlin beamed up at Morgana, "and then Gwen's. But I already know yours starts with an _M_." He glanced at Arthur for confirmation, and the older man nodded. There was perhaps the tiniest hint of pride etched onto his features.

"Same as yours," Morgana replied with a smile and wrote her name beside Merlin's. Her handwriting was slightly cramped, like someone was forcing the letters to collide with each other, trapping them on the page. Arthur felt a pang when he thought of the time when his old English teacher, Professor Kilgharrah, had told him you could find out a lot from a person by looking at their handwriting.

Gwen walked over to them, pressing a light touch to the back of Arthur's neck. The blonde wondered what it meant, but he thought he could sense that she was pleased and pulled away as soon as was reasonable, not looking around to catch her frustrated expression.

"I'm going to go for a run," she told him, and he nodded stiffly. Gwen went running everyday apart from Saturday, and sometimes she went even then. Nothing strenuous, just an early morning jog to get her awake and thinking and _breathing_. "It's looking good, Merlin." She squeezed his arm as she passed, making him look up.

"Thank you," he smiled before hunching back over the paper. Morgana hesitated a moment, watching as Gwen left the room then suddenly got to her feet, calling after her.

"Will you be out long?" Her voice caught slightly when she almost forced herself to stop asking, wondering why she cared anyway.

Gwen walked back into the room, trainers in hand, and shrugged. "Only an hour or so..." She bent down to tug the shoes onto her feet, and Morgana watched the way she had to tuck her hair behind her ears when it fell over her face. When the other woman was finished, she properly appreciated for the first time that Gwen had _dressed_ for running. It was freezing out, so the shirt was long sleeved, and she wasn't wearing shorts, but the clothes were _tight_ and unfairly flattering. Morgana wondered how on earth Arthur could be sitting so calmly at the table, without so much as looking at his girlfriend.

"Do you..." Gwen began uncertainly, "uh, do you want to come with me?"

At that, Merlin looked up again to watch Morgana's face.

"You should go," he insisted slowly with a small grin, "me and Arthur are just gonna be doing this."

" _Arthur and I,_ " Arthur murmured under his breath, and Merlin rolled his eyes, although still not looking away from Morgana's face. Besides, he could tell she _wanted_ to go, but she just needed a push...

In response, she gave a slight smile. "Yeah, all right...but I don't have anything to wear for running."

"Not a problem," Gwen chuckled, beckoning to her. "We'll find you something, easy."

***

Morgana wasn't quite sure why she had a tendency to make life difficult for herself, but that was definitely what she was doing when she stepped out of the front door in tracksuit bottoms and trainers, hair tied back in a tight pony tail and with gorgeous, funny, adorable Gwen—jogging on the spot beside her and smiling broadly.

"Here," she dug a hand into the pocket of the hoodie she'd pulled on right before stepping out of the house and took out some kind of cereal energy bar.

Morgana hesitated before reaching out to take it. "Thanks." She smiled and tore it open.

"I figured you might be hungry, and I usually don't eat until after I run," Gwen spoke with a shrug shortly before she began moving off, her trainers leaving ridged footprints in the snow.

Morgana took a bite of the cereal bar and stifled a little moan when she realised it had marshmallow inside. Then she hurried after her until they were moving side by side at a steady pace.

As they ran, Gwen pointed things out to her—houses and parks and lampposts and trees that all had stories, and Morgana found that she could listen to Gwen's voice forever. Her tone was light and she spoke to her like she was somebody she _wanted_ to talk to. Like Morgana was her friend.

After perhaps half an hour, they had to stop, for Morgana had fallen behind without Gwen realising, and she had to cry out to get the other woman to turn around.

"Are you okay?" Gwen jogged back and looked at her with eyes filled with concern.

"Uhmm..." Morgana's hands were flat against her knees, and she was doubled over, fighting for breath. "I don't think I can go much further," she admitted with a sharp exhale.

"Are you hurt?" Gwen's hand was suddenly between her shoulders, a gentle touch that still managed to make Morgana start.

"No," she shook her head, surprised by the disappointment that settled in her stomach when Gwen quickly withdrew her hand. "I don't...I don't _think_ so. My legs are still kind of sore from before though..." And she was talking about the miles she had walked just a few days ago, at the same time as she supported a boy who was even taller than she was.

"Shit." It was the first time Morgana had heard Gwen swear, and it made her look up in surprise. But it was hard to stop the smile that climbed waywardly up her face.

"I can't believe I even dragged you this far!" the other woman exclaimed, "C'mon, let's go back." She helped Morgana straighten up then, after a heartbeat of hesitation, wrapped an arm around her waist.

Morgana didn't move to stop her, even though she was slightly taken aback. "You don't have to—" she began, even as Gwen took a step forwards to bring her along with her.

"It's either this, or we sledge home," Gwen told her, taking another awkward step.

"Really?" Morgana met the older girl's gaze and held it for a second, enjoying the way she slowly smiled.

The 'sledge' was, in fact, just an old _this house is for sale_ sign, which had been abandoned on the street corner. It took them a little while to decide who should sit where and then, once Gwen had positioned herself behind Morgana with her arms wrapped around her waist, it dawned on them that the thing wouldn't propel itself.

In the end, it probably cost them even more effort to shuffle home, using their hands and feet to push themselves along and occasionally having to stand up in order to give it an extra shove, but they both felt it had been worth it when they finally rolled up at the house, once again covered in snow.

***

"Arthur, what was that?" Merlin pushed aside his paper and got to his feet, practically running out into the hallway. Arthur rolled his eyes as he stood up—Merlin had been unable to keep still for longer than thirty seconds at a time, and the chatter had been _non-stop_. Although this was the first time the boy had actually left the table, Arthur couldn't help but compare his disciplinary levels with those of his Knights. The contrast between them was laughable.

"What was _what_?" the older man asked, slightly wary as Merlin bounded over to the front door.

But the boy didn't reply, instead craning his neck to peek through the little glass peephole to see who was outside, and let out a short burst of laughter that made Arthur's stomach do a minor summersault, before he wrenched the door open.

Morgana and Gwen were crowded on the doorstep with snow settling in their hair and chapped-lipped smiles on their faces.

"You look like you had fun," Merlin commented, bending down to take hold of Morgana's hand and helping her stand up. She wobbled slightly on her feet and leant heavily against Merlin, but her grin was wide and breathless.

"Don't sound so wistful," Arthur muttered, prodding him on the back before moving past him to assist Gwen.

"I wasn't!" Merlin assured him earnestly, although the effect was slightly ruined when he rolled his eyes at Morgana.

"I saw that," Arthur remarked as he carefully brushed snow from Gwen's jacket and leaned in to give her a chaste kiss on her frostbitten mouth. When he pulled away, she was blushing faintly and wrapping her arms around herself. Merlin, who was now leading Morgana back inside, never noticed, and the blonde was surprised at how glad he felt.

"We gave up running about halfway," Gwen explained, skipping past Arthur into the house and shedding her shoes and jacket as she went.

"Sledging was better," Morgana called back at them, and Merlin let out a little whine.

"You went _sledging?_ Without me?"

Arthur could practically hear the sounds of Merlin tugging crossly on Morgana's sleeve. A small smile curved its way onto his face, and if anyone had accused it of being affectionate, he would have shot them down. As it was, Gwen just gave him a bemused look, and he shrugged.

***

Lance couldn't quite believe it when they caught him. He had done this for a million and one times: he knew the Guard's duty timetable like the back of his hand, and yet something had slipped. Perhaps in his panic he'd missed something vital, like the groan of a man who'd wanted to have his lunch break twenty minutes early.

Whatever had happened, whatever had gone unnoticed, it had resulted in Lance missing that small window of opportunity—the one which he used to dart through every morning to get to school.

Hands closed like vices around his arms, and there were men shoving so close to him that he could smell their breath and count the coarse bristles on their chins.

When they asked him for his Pass, he could only stare at them, utterly dejected because he had no Pass.

After that, it was a fist in his stomach and accusations loud and ringing in his ears. They clamped metal cuffs around his wrists, inscribed with runes that he could only suspect were used to dampen the prisoner's magic, if they had any. But the only effect they had on Lance was how they suddenly made him feel unbearably heavy and had him staggering behind men twice his size to the point where he wished he had been quick enough to knock at least a few of them out cold before they arrested him.

Wished that he had his own Pass.

Wished that there was some other way to get to Gwen. To _warn_ her that Arthur wasn't safe and that _none_ of them were safe, as long as Uther Pendragon's daughter continued living.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

It was surprising how quickly the four of them seemed to ease into a routine that worked. In fact, by the end of their first week under the same roof, Arthur was finding it hard to imagine what it would be like when Merlin and Morgana eventually left—which they would—and when things would have to return to how they had been before.

Return to normal.

For now though, Arthur would wake up early as he always had, turn to look at Gwen's face as was custom, and make his way down to the dining room. _That_ was where normality turned into something truly delightful as he laid out paper and pencils and settled down with his head tipped back, feeling the back of the cool wooden chair pressing up into his neck.

Within about half an hour, there would be the telltale sounds of someone light but heavy footed, clumsily making his way downstairs, and then Merlin would burst in to meet him—a wonderful flurry of mussed black hair and bed socks.

"What today?" Merlin would ask, always pulling up the chair directly beside Arthur's despite there being no less than nine in all around the table, before proceeding to teeter dangerously close to invading the blonde's personal space to a gross level. Although with Merlin, 'gross' was never quite the word—Arthur loathed to admit it, but there was nothing at all unpleasant about the way the boy jostled him with bony elbows as he flamboyantly sharpened a pencil just because he liked the sound of the tiny silver blade chipping away at the wood and how the shavings floated down onto the tabletop to gather in a little, unorganised pile.

Arthur wasn't even sure how he had learnt these small details about Merlin, only that he would always be the one to roll his eyes and lodge his fingers behind the clump of pencil shavings before sweeping them neatly into his palm.

"It was already sharp," he'd grumble with no real bite to his voice, as he stood up in order to drop the residue into the wastepaper basket. Merlin wouldn't reply to the statement though, instead changing the subject to something altogether stupid and random yet somehow still stimulating in an odd little way.

Like the time he'd asked whether you could get hair dye for elephants:

" _Why? Do you want to dye your hair,_ Mer _lin?"_

" _What? I'm not an elephant! Arthur, don't you_ dare _touch my ears, you prat!"_

Or the day he had inquired about the feathery hat he'd found in the spare room:

" _If you don't sit still and read me what this says, I'll have you wearing that hat for a week."_

" _Oh my God, seriously? Okay, Christ, I'll read the sentence..."_

And through all these pointless conversations, Arthur gathered more about the young man than could possibly be standard after such a short amount of time:

He knew that Merlin's favourite colour was midnight blue, and that his favourite animals were cats. He knew that Merlin felt sick after drinking too much hot chocolate, but would continue to drink it regardless. He knew that Merlin liked to prop his chin on the dining room table and open and shut his mouth because it 'felt funny'. He knew a hundred things about Merlin that he had never intended to find out, but none of them included details about his past, or why Arthur could sometimes hear the faint sounds of crying coming from the spare room when it was so late at night that morning was beginning to bully its way into existence.

However, he intended for Merlin to tell him one day because he couldn't stand the thought of letting him go without knowing the full story, no matter how terrible that story might turn out to be.

For now though and for the next few months, Arthur would start each day like this: with his hand closed around Merlin's, guiding them both across smooth sheets of paper.

***

A few minutes after Merlin had sat down, both he and Arthur looked up to the sound of Gwen wondering into the room and murmuring a sleepy "Good morning" before she pecked Arthur on the cheek, ruffled Merlin's hair, and headed into the kitchen to search through the cupboards for her seemingly never-ending stash of cereal bars.

Once they had been located, she meandered back upstairs to find Morgana.

Not long after that, the boys heard the front door open and close as the two women let themselves out to go jogging again. Their daily runs had become as traditional as Merlin's reading lessons.

"How long have you and Gwen been together?" Merlin asked, his tongue still poking out the corner of his mouth as he tried to copy out a sentence Arthur had written.

At this the blonde frowned, although he wasn't sure if it because he knew why Merlin was curious or because the question had caused him to lose focus, and the 'B' in one of the words had ended up slightly squished.

"A long time...she's lived with me since she was about eight...hey!" He quickly reached over to give Merlin's hand a little tap, nudging him so that the word didn't start to trail diagonally down the page.

The other's mouth turned down slightly. He knew about how Gwen used to work for the Pendragons—she had told him when they were washing up in the kitchen together.

" _Yeah_ ," he went on, gazing at him curiously as he flicked in two, neat 'L's on the sheet of paper. "But you haven't been going out with her since she was eight, have you?"

"No," Arthur replied and rolled his eyes. "But I have ever since she turned eighteen. So four years."

Merlin whistled, studiously avoiding Arthur's gaze. "And were there any other...girls before Gwen?"

"A couple," the blonde admitted, amused at the way Merlin glanced up and away again quickly when he almost caught his eyes, "and some boys."

"Oh." Merlin's breath caught a little, and his hand slipped, creating a grey groove across the paper.

Arthur smirked then hesitated slightly. He had told himself that there was more than enough time to find out all the things that Merlin kept hidden from him, and every night he went to bed convincing himself that he would be patient and wait until the boy brought it up himself. But hey, if Merlin was allowed to be so nosy, why couldn't Arthur be?

"What about you?" he asked, picking up a rubber and getting rid of the misplaced pencil mark with long, smooth strokes. He didn't miss the way Merlin's eyes followed the movement, focussing on the stretch in his biceps, and the way his forefinger and thumb were firm on the innocent piece of stationary.

"What about me?" the younger man mumbled, voice sounding a little hoarse.

"Were you with anyone before you came over the Wall?" Arthur pulled his arm back, letting the eraser drop from his hand and bounce slightly against the table top.

Merlin's eyes moved from his arm, tracking the eraser's motion as it rolled.

At this the blonde wondered whether the younger man would ever drag his eyes upwards and was about to consider clicking his fingers in front of his face to get his attention, when he looked up by himself in silence.

Merlin's skin was naturally pale, so more than once Arthur had compared him to a ghost in the comfort of his own mind. Something ethereal and soft and untouchable.

He had often compared him to a ghost, but never had the look in the other's eyes been so... _lifeless_ until that very moment. Immediately he felt wrong footed and possibly, maybe the smallest bit guilty, having half a mind to backtrack and give him some kind of roundabout apology.

But then Merlin gave him a lopsided smile, replying, "A couple of girls. Some boys."

In that instant, Arthur swallowed, nostrils flaring slightly as he heard his own words repeated back to him in Merlin's mocking tones. For a second, there was silence before he nodded back towards the paper.

"Let's finish," he sighed, and Merlin's fingers tightened around his pencil.

With a final flourish he completed the sentence: _Arthur is Brilliant._

_***_

Morgana's stamina was slowly growing and becoming greater with every early morning run.

Gwen nudged her with an elbow when they passed by an old warehouse for broken down vehicles: it had been their target for days, and Morgana couldn't help the huge grin that took over her face when they left it behind them. Sure, she was tired now, but she wasn't anywhere near her limit yet.

"How much further d'you think you can go?" Gwen smiled, not even trying to cover up the fondness in her expression.

Morgana glanced over at her and suddenly felt a little more breathless. Apart from Merlin, she had never met anyone with such expressive features, and it wasn't even subconscious anymore when she migrated ever closer to the other woman, kicking up snow at exactly the same pace.

"Not sure," she replied between breaths, "perhaps half an hour?"

"Okay." Gwen glanced down at her watch, and Morgana knew she was working out exactly when time would be up. She always made Morgana stop running after whatever amount of time she had suggested even if, at the end of that time, she felt like she could go a little further.

" _We'll add it to our target for tomorrow,_ " she'd say, whipping a cereal bar out of her pocket and pressing it into Morgana's hand.

Now they ran in perfect time with each other, un-gloved fingers flexing ever so slightly as the snow continued to fall.

"Morgana?" Gwen said, as they skirted round an icy puddle.

"Yeah?" it came out as a short pant, and the truth was that she was slightly _too_ out of breath to really do the whole talking thing, but she wanted to hear what Gwen had to say. She pretty much _always_ wanted to hear what Gwen had to say. Morgana wondered with a pang what she would do when Morgause finally called her and when she would have to face the idea of never hearing Gwen again.

"Who _is_ Merlin to you?" the other woman was now looking at her out of the corner of her eye, seemingly reluctant to meet her gaze head on.

Morgana kept staring ahead anyway, placing one foot determinedly in front of the other.

"I...I don't really know," she admitted, suddenly accosted by memories of a small, big eared child curled up in the gutter. "I guess he's sort of like a brother."

"You're very close," Gwen stated softly, appearing to be no longer bothered about looking at Morgana's face as she searched for a reaction.

"He means everything to me," Morgana told her simply, "I don't know how I could ever function without him." She laughed without humour. "Someone once called him my only weakness."

"It's not weak to need something, or someone." Gwen's reply was instant and firm. "It's just being human."

And she sounded so certain, was staring so openly at Morgana, that the younger girl stopped to catch her breath for the first time since they left the house, eyes meeting hers.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Morgana claimed with a shrug, knowing that it was true. After all, she didn't _want_ to live a life where Merlin didn't exist, and she didn't want to imagine what things would have been like if she hadn't found him in the first place.

"I don't think he would, either." Gwen's smile was a little sad. At that moment, Morgana wondered why and whether it was Arthur's fault. _God knows_ , she thought to herself, for she needed reasons to hate Arthur. _Arthur_ , who Merlin was head over heels for and who Gwen was bound to, even though it was obvious to anyone who was with the couple for more than a few days that they were unwillingly joined.

It was like someone had stitched them together without taking into consideration that they obviously belonged to different garments, and now a sharper needle was needed to pick out the thread.

_Or perhaps two needles_ , Morgana pondered as she recalled the time Arthur had first laid eyes on both her and Merlin, huddled on his doorstep.

"How much time left?" she asked with a small shake of her head. Gwen glanced down at her watch again.

"Fifteen minutes," she answered before looking up to meet her gaze. "You wanna walk the rest?"

"Walking and talking," Morgana breathed with a smile, "sounds good."

With that, Gwen dropped an empty cereal bar packet into a bin as they turned the corner. Then, after a few seconds, she sighed and murmured, "I have a brother."

In response, Morgana stared at her curiously. "You never mentioned..."

"He's not a very major part of my life right now." Gwen's voice was bitter as she scuffed her trainers on the pavement, "I haven't seen him in almost four months, anyway."

The other girl bit her lip, thinking about how she hadn't even _met_ her brother until she was nineteen. But then something clicked, and she found herself inquiring instead:

"Wasn't it around that long ago that Arthur stopped talking to Uther?"

Gwen looked taken aback that Morgana had remembered, though not entirely pleased. "Yeah," she sighed before continuing, "and yes, both those things are linked."

"How?" Morgana didn't even try to hide how interested she was, and Gwen managed a small, weary smile.

"Elyan used to live with my father just on the edge of the Right side—practically _on_ the Wall. Because of how long I had been working for the Pendragons, he was basically given an honourary knighthood when he turned eighteen. Of course, he's an excellent fighter, and if the system were a little fairer then they probably would have accepted him anyway." She looked down at her watch again then shoved her hand back in her pocket and murmured, "Five minutes."

"Hmm. But I don't see what your brother being a Knight had to do with..." Morgana trailed off, gesturing vaguely with her hands to insinuate Arthur's fall out with his father.

"I'm getting there." Gwen grinned fully this time, and the other flicked her shoulder.

"Go on then!"

"Okay—well," Gwen began, tugging on Morgana's arm to make her turn around so they were heading back the other way. "He and Arthur were pretty close—I mean, they got on really well which was great. But Elyan never agreed with the idea of the Wall. He passed on all his views to me actually, and then he passed them on to Arthur as well. Elyan's been working with people on the other side..." In that instant, she looked uncertain whether she ought to continue, but then something hit Morgana like a punch in the belly, making her abruptly gasp:

" _Gwaine?_ "

Gwen blinked, mouth popping open in surprise. "I...yeah, that was his name—Elyan told me about him. It was years and years ago now, but they were in contact. How do you know Gwaine? How do you know that _Elyan_ was talking to him?"

Morgana just shook her head, trying to process this new information—that Gwen had been part of her life for so much longer than was believable—and congratulated herself on making the connection. She could still remember it now as clear as day, stumbling into Gwaine's house for the first time and hearing him yelling on the phone:

" _Ask Ely- what the fuck d'you mean 'Elyan isn't around'? It was his idea... fuck the Authorities, Percy. Jesus Christ."_

"Gwaine was..." she began, but then it was her turn to pause, biting her lip.

"If you tell me, I'll tell you," Gwen spoke with a shrug, "and I promise to keep this whole conversation a secret."

There was a long pause.

"I still don't know if I can trust you," Morgana admitted softly, frustrated at how guilty it made her feel at that point.

"I don't know if I can trust you, either," Gwen pointed out, and it was this mutuality that made Morgana think: _Fuck it_.

"I used to live with Gwaine. In fact, I was living with him a few weeks ago before...well, shit happened, and I ended up here. No offense."

"None taken," Gwen reassured, but she looked as overwhelmed as Morgana felt. "Wait—you _lived_ with him? Morgana, you know he's been plotting an _assassination_ on Aredian?"

" _Yes_." Morgana's voice was steely and biting. "And I always supported him. But when he met me and Merlin...well, that kind of thing took a backseat for him, I think. Not for me though. I still want what he fought for."

Gwen only frowned at her. "Why did you leave him?" she asked, but Morgana wouldn't say anymore.

"You have to tell me about Elyan now." the younger girl insisted.

"Okay." Gwen nodded thoughtfully. "Well...after he was Knighted, obviously he had to be a lot more careful. He dropped out of plans he'd made himself, and everything was just becoming much too dangerous. That was until he got Arthur on board, anyway. He convinced Arthur that what Aredian was doing was wrong, and to be honest, it didn't take much. Arthur had been on his way there anyway—he's a good man. He _knew_ that Aredian's always been a sick, twisted psychopath."

Morgana gave a small snort, as if claiming that was an understatement, and Gwen grimaced in agreement. "Anyway...they still kept all their plans and things relatively low key. Elyan arranged rebellions on the other side of the Wall, while Arthur distracted his father and kept the Knights busy over here. It was going on for a long time. They were both taking far too many risks, and I hated just...just sitting around while they were putting their _lives_ in danger. Maybe not Arthur because Uther would protect him, but if Elyan was ever caught as the man behind it all...he'd be executed in a _second_."

Gwen stopped then, making a small choked off sound at the back of her throat, and before she even knew what she was doing, Morgana was beside her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders as they walked.

"You don't have to tell me..." Morgana started, even though the curiosity she was feeling now was more than intense—it _burned_.

"No, I want to." Gwen looped her own arm around Morgana's waist where it rested, warm and comfortable. "I haven't been able to tell anyone. Feels nice."

At that moment, Morgana began to think she might actually be able to understand her, but then she had always had someone to talk to, whether it had been Merlin or Morgause. Looking at Gwen now, as they fumbled through the snow, it felt extraordinarily _good_ to be needed.

"Okay," she whispered.

Gwen took a shuddery breath then continued in a slightly hoarse tone. "Aredian eventually caught on about six months ago. He has spies over the Wall _everywhere,_ and they saw my brother visiting the house of a Sorceress. I don't know exactly what he was planning this time, but it doesn't really matter now. Luckily, Arthur hadn't been involved that time, and Elyan would never give him up." She closed her eyes. "But Arthur would have done the same, and wouldn't dare let Aredian just arrest Elyan. Uther was overseeing the whole thing though, and I don't think he knew which side to be on. My brother's had dinner at the Pendragon's more times than I can count. To Uther, it was just like being asked to put his son's best friend in prison."

Gwen swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "In the end, they took away his knighthood, and banished him from coming anywhere near Pendragon Estate, but that was all. And then, about four months ago, they arrested my father." Her hold on Morgana tightened, and the younger girl soon found that her hand had moved up from Gwen's shoulders so that her fingers were carding through her long dark curls. Then Gwen was silent for another long moment before she shrugged, but not so as to dislodge Morgana's arm. "They only did it as a way of punishing my brother, but that just made it so much worse. And Arthur was so angry—I've never even _seen_ him that angry. He hasn't spoken to Uther since."

"And...he still opposes to what Aredian does—and Uther? What does Arthur think about magic?" Morgana asked, unsure whether she really wanted to know the answer. If Arthur had nothing against magic, she was now finding it hard to have anything against the blonde.

But Gwen looked at her sharply. "Magic is against the law," she said firmly, and Morgana was immediately taken aback by the fierceness, the _urgency_ , in her voice.

"I know that," she replied stiffly, her arm falling from where it was braced around Gwen's shoulders so that it swung at her side instead.

"Morgana—" Gwen caught the arm back and forced her to stop moving. "If you...if you have magic—"

The younger girl started to look away. "I don't—"

" _If you have magic_ ," she repeated before Morgana could protest, "you _have_ to be careful. I know that Arthur already suspects you of it, but he won't do anything about it unless he sees it with his own eyes. And if he _does_ see it, he won't just stand by and do nothing. He's grown up with Aredian looming over his shoulder, and even if he's always hated the man, you can't just wipe away that kind of influence. To Arthur, magic _is_ evil, but the people who use it are just people. Good or bad."

"What do _you_ think?" Morgana asked in reply, staring intently into her chocolate-brown eyes as she chewed the inside of her cheek.

There was another long pause. "I think if a person is good, then the magic they use will also be good," she uttered solemnly.

Morgana surveyed her for a moment longer before nodding curtly and began to walk once more.

"I think so, too."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Arthur," Gwen's voice floated out in front of her as they lay side by side, fingers just short of being twisted together. Neither could remember the last time they'd actually held hands.

"What?" Arthur asked, eyes trained as ever on the ceiling.

For a minute, it was silent between them.

The blonde let out a tired exhale and was about to try for some sleep when suddenly she inquired back:

"We're not going to ever make them leave, are we?"

At this, Arthur sucked in a breath, and his index finger twitched, just brushing against hers. Then he thought of Merlin, who was no doubt already asleep now and who had recently started knocking on his bedroom door in the mornings to prove that he ' _could get up early, thank you very much'_.

"They can't stay forever," he muttered without so much as glancing at her, ignoring the way his stomach curled unpleasantly at the thought of this hot old house having no one to fill it anymore but him and Gwen.

"But they haven't got anywhere else to go," she pointed out, and Arthur knew he didn't imagine the hint of desperation in her voice. As Gwen had been spending more and more time with Morgana, she was becoming increasingly fond of Merlin, too.

"They've already been with us for two months, Guinevere," he sighed, "I don't know how the hell they haven't been caught yet."

"Because who would ever suspect _you_ of hiding fugitives?" Gwen shot back, and they both winced. It was only a week ago that Merlin had spotted the first poster while he was out with Arthur, stuck to a lamppost. He had let out a startled squeak before tearing it down, staring in horror at his own and Morgana's names printed above a figure with an insane amount of noughts.

There hadn't even been a picture, just a description: _Young teenaged boy, dark hair. Older girl, dark hair_.

Merlin had also recognised the style of the poster. Because over the Wall, the sides of buildings were plastered with ones just like it, some of them bearing pictures of Freya when she was in animal form, depicting her huge and lethal.

Arthur had snatched the paper from his hand though and then practically dragged him back to the car, growling, "Get in, _now_ ," before driving them both back home. All the way the younger man hadn't said a single word, which had been worrying to say the least.

Now the blonde let his eyes fall shut as he murmured, "They haven't been found, but they are not safe here."

"So you would be okay, just to let them go?" Gwen's voice shook a little, and Arthur finally looked at her. She was staring resolutely in the other direction, and her hands had twisted into fists, with Arthur's fingers just skirting over dark skinned knuckles. "You just... _God_ , you really wouldn't care, would you?"

"Of course I would," he answered her gruffly, "I'm not totally heartless, Guinevere."

"It's _Gwen_." And it wasn't a petulant whine, like it had been in the past, but an angry hiss as she wrapped her arms around herself and twisted in the bed so that her back was facing him.

Arthur blinked slowly, wondering what had just happened. "Guinev— _Gwen_." It was perhaps the first time he had ever used her nickname—the name which he had refused to call her on account of the fact she was just one of his father's maids. "I'm sorry." Upon saying this, he hoped she read everything he was trying to force behind the words, which he couldn't remember uttering for a long time.

He hoped she heard the endless apologies, for loving her but never being _in love_ with her. For living with her, but never entertaining ideas of taking it further—of marriage and children and a home far away from Camelot and Uther, like he knew she'd always wanted.

For falling for someone else at the same time as he drifted to sleep beside her every goddamn night.

"Me too," she mumbled after a moment, and he saw her curl up ever so slightly tighter around her own thoughts and all the words _she_ wasn't saying.

At that, Arthur had a feeling that Gwen wanted to apologise for almost exactly the same things as he did.

***

From Monday through to Friday, Arthur worked. During the morning, he'd sit down with Merlin and spend a few hours watching with pride as the kid read aloud from a magazine or wrote down a full paragraph without his hand pausing once. But he would ignore the way Merlin's cheekbones were highlighted by the sunlight, streaming in through the dining room windows, and how his little finger dragged along the paper as he wrote, smudging the lines until the blonde reached over and tucked it back.

Then in the afternoon, he would have training and the other, duller part of his job, which involved various, seemingly endless meetings with his father's advisors but never actually with his father. He would give Merlin an awkward pat on the back, which was slipping into something friendlier and dangerously _easier_ with every passing day before heading up to his room.

His uniform hung neatly in the wardrobe, cameo-green apart from the small splash of red and gold that was Camelot's crest, sewn over his heart. Gwen used to help him into it sometimes, her hands light and nimble as she smoothed out any creases and fastened up any buttons which had come loose. She hadn't for a while now though, so Arthur had long since become used to doing this alone.

That was why it took him _very_ much by surprise when he suddenly felt a tentative brush to the back of his neck, just after he'd pulled his undershirt over his head.

" _Jesus_ ," he gasped, jerking away and spinning around to find Merlin—

_Of_ course _it's Merlin, you idiot,_ he thought.

—standing there looking wary.

"Sorry," the younger boy mumbled innocently with a shrug. But Arthur's eyes narrowed. Merlin was awfully good at apologising without sounding in the slightest like he meant it.

"What exactly are you doing up here, Merlin?" he asked before turning away again to pick up his jacket and tug it over his broad shoulders.

"You _always_ leave me down there," the other's tone of voice just bordered on a whine, "and Gwen and Morgana don't get back for _ages_ now, so I'm just sitting there doing nothing for _so_ long—" Merlin cut himself off with a sigh, and Arthur's fingers had frozen where they had been beginning to fasten up the first, dark green button.

"Why didn't you tell me you were...bored or lonely or whatever?" he asked, hoping that he came off as annoyed rather than concerned.

"It's not like it makes any difference, is it?" And Merlin was walking until he was directly in front of Arthur, reaching up to bat the other man's hands away so he could do up the button instead. "You're still gonna go to work, and the girls are still gonna go running, and I'm _still_ gonna end up here, by myself."

It took a moment or two for Arthur to fully register what Merlin had been saying, for his eyes had been trained on the boy's mouth, but he hadn't exactly been focussing on any of the words being said. On top of that, his fingertips were distractingly soft, whenever they ghosted over his throat...

"You could go out," he managed to say, just before Merlin's eyes flickered up to see him staring. Then the blonde hastily moved his gaze to somewhere over the top of Merlin's head. "There are plenty of things you could do! And honestly, Merlin—only someone as impatient as you would complain at being left alone for what, half an hour?"

"It was a _whole_ hour yesterday," Merlin retorted, moving onto the next button. "And the same the day before. I don't...I just don't _like_ being by myself. It sucks and sometimes I fall asleep, and that's even _worse_ because Morgana's not there, and you're not there and—"Now he was doing that babbling thing, which Arthur did _not_ find endearing but did find incredibly frustrating and which usually made him zone out the moment it started.

Now though, Arthur caught something other than overexcitement, rolling off Merlin in waves, and he caught the boy's hands in his before they could get the button through the loop. They were trembling slightly.

"What happens when you fall asleep, Merlin?" he asked concernedly, a thumb subconsciously rubbing over where the bone in Merlin's wrist protruded.

But the other shook his head. "Nothing, I just—"

" _Merlin!_ "

"—have nightmares," he finished quietly, his head dropping forwards so he was looking at the spaces between their feet. Arthur soon followed his gaze and realised that Merlin's bare toes were mere inches from the caps of his boots.

"What are they about?" he pressed, wondering why he was unable to look away from the boy's feet and how his toes were curled into the carpet as if he was trying to stop himself from taking the tiny bird step that would have him falling straight into Arthur's arms.

"I'll tell you..." Merlin took a sharp breath then swallowed hard. "I'll tell you later."

"When I get home?" Arthur was insistent, his grip on Merlin's arms tightening ever so slightly until the boy nodded.

"Fine," he muttered just above a hushed whisper.

And then, before he knew what he was doing, Arthur was dropping a kiss to the top of his dark head. They both stiffened, but the blonde was the first to recover by letting go of his hands and saying, "Good," like nothing had happened.

Merlin's mouth was a tiny bit open when Arthur backed away, stumbling slightly over the leg of Gwen's chair by the dresser, still talking to him over his shoulder "And we'll find you something to do tomorrow, while I'm out and everything. Uh...be good, all right? I think Gwen left you sandwiches in the kitchen."

In a split second, he was gone, practically running down the stairs, and Merlin heard the sounds of the front door opening and slamming.

_It was a wonder, actually,_ he thought as he left the room himself, dazedly placing one foot in front of the other, because he was surprised he could hear anything over his own loudly thumping heart and the blood rushing in his ears.

***

Arthur took a deep breath the moment he was outside of his front door, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. His lips felt like they were burning, and they hadn't even touched Merlin's skin—just his soft hair. He could still smell him though:

Merlin smelt like hot chocolate and soap, and he wished that the kid wasn't so damn warm and that his body wasn't just the right size to be cradled in another's arms, all fragile ribs and smooth pale skin.

He pushed himself away from the house and unsteadily made his way towards his car. Once he was in the vehicle and sitting comfortably in the front seat, he truly realised how hopeless the whole thing was.

_Everything_ reminded him of Merlin. There was no getting away from it—it didn't matter that the boy was still just that. That he was still just a fucking teenager and barely literate and poorer than any other person Arthur had spent longer than a minute with.

The seatbelt for the passenger seat was ever so slightly worn in one spot from where Merlin had practiced putting it on and taking it off, over and over until Arthur had threatened to make him walk if he didn't stop. In the small compartment by the gearstick, there were empty lollypop wrappers, despite Arthur telling Merlin that it probably wasn't safe to eat those while he was driving in the snow. Then down the side of his seat, he found an old rusting coin—the type that Merlin would insist on picking up if he ever saw one on the pavement.

The blonde couldn't even turn on the radio without remembering how the boy had _cried_ the first time he'd heard the music playing, and how he had told Arthur to _shut up_ and _I'm trying to listen_ because _it's so beautiful_.

Now Arthur sat still in his uniform, sucking in deep breaths and wondering if it was a lack of oxygen making him so dizzy or all the thoughts which were crowding in his mind, his senses in overdrive.

He pondered for a crazy, blind moment, whether this was what being in love felt like. In an instant, the air seemed to get lost on the way to his throat, and he was gasping for it, eyes smarting. Then he pulled himself together with a sharp shake of the head and shoved the key in the ignition, wishing wildly that the wind would pick up and tear the car apart and that the snow would sooth the burning deep in his belly, where he liked to think his soul lay dormant.

Because Arthur had been told many times that, if he _did_ have a soul, it was a sleeping one.

The car started with a purr, and he manoeuvred it out of the drive and onto the road, knuckles white against the steering wheel as he felt like something immense and hot and _awake_ was writhing up inside him.

***

Merlin _didn't_ fall asleep when Arthur left that day, not least because Arthur had _kissed_ him.

Kind of.

On the head.

Oh God, Arthur had kissed him.

He tripped his way to the kitchen and snatched up the sandwich Gwen had made, cramming half of it into his mouth with one bite and then fumbling his way over to the radio that the blonde had brought down from the top of the fridge when he'd realised how much Merlin liked the music. Now it rested on the counter, and Merlin knew his way around the dials and buttons like he owned it.

Within moments he had flicked to his favourite channel and was trying to sing through his mouthful, wishing that Arthur was there, even though last time he'd been caught dancing in the kitchen it had been nothing short of mortifying. He supposed he _had_ been slightly mollified when he saw Arthur's eyes linger for a moment on his behind—which had _not_ been swinging, thank you—and the way his tongue had darted out to lick his lips.

Merlin had never heard this particular song before but he liked it, so he picked up the radio and brought it with him to the living room before sinking onto the sofa and hugging it tightly to his chest.

After a little while, the chorus started, loud and rumbling against his chest. He looked down at the radio then turned it up even more to the point that it felt like his whole body was thrumming with music. The vocals were so loud they were getting distorted—twisted out of shape with the bass slamming against his ribs. He couldn't even hear the lyrics anymore, but he didn't care.

He supposed this was what drowning must feel like. Drowning or falling through the air with the ground rushing up to meet you, covered in snow.

And Merlin was still like that, even after the song had changed, when the girls got home and found him with one arm curled around the radio and the other resting on top of his head. Every now and then his fingers would flit back to touch a certain spot in his hair, and there was a loose, lovesick smile on his face.

Gwen smiled when she saw him before walking over and plucking the radio from his arms, turning it down to a less skull-splitting volume. Merlin pouted for a moment and made grabby hands for her to give it back, which she did with a laugh.

"How long have you been sitting there?" she asked, going into the kitchen to see that the counter was now devoid of sandwiches.

"I don't know...a couple of songs? Maybe five songs. Or like, twenty...where's Morgana?" he sat up and was on the verge of getting to his feet when Morgana came into the room, kicking off her trainers as she went.

"Hey." She collapsed on the floor by the sofa, leaning back so her head was at the same level as Merlin's feet, which were curled up on the cushions with him.

"Hullo." He petted the top of her head, and she rolled her eyes up at him. "How was running?"

"Great," Morgana told him with a shrug before narrowing her eyes. "Why do you look so happy?"

"I don't!" he shot back instantly, shuffling away from her and then tacking on, with a sudden burst of inspiration, "It's because you're home!"

"You are a terrible liar," she commented dryly because they both knew that wasn't true, but it felt nice to pretend. He stuck his tongue out at her before leaning forwards to whisper in her ear:

" _Arthur kissed me_."

" _What?_ " Morgana sat up straight so quickly that her head collided with Merlin's chin, and he was knocked backwards, scowling and rubbing his face.

" _Ow!_ Morgana!"

"Are you two all right?" Gwen called from the kitchen, and they answered with a loud, synchronised,

" _Yes_."

After a moment of just staring at Merlin, with her hand pressed to her head where they had collided, Morgana hissed, "Merlin, please tell me you're joking."

At this he shrugged his shoulders innocently. "Well...I mean. We _sort of_ kissed?" he asked. "He kissed the top of my head before he left for work today."

"Merlin..." she started, voice cautious. She couldn't think of anything else to add though, before Gwen got back with lunch for the both of them.

"What's up?" she asked, sitting down beside Morgana so that their knees were touching.

"Nothing!" Merlin said quickly, clambering to his feet and looking at Morgana with eyes pleading her not to say anything.

"Merlin," Morgana said later, when they were alone again after Gwen had gone to take a shower, "you do know that...I mean, it wasn't a proper kiss or anything. This doesn't mean that Arthur's suddenly in love with you or—"

"I know," Merlin interrupted, "and he probably didn't mean anything by it, but Morgana, you don't understand," The expression in his eyes was desperate and dreamy at the same time, like he was floating and filled with _need_.

"What don't I understand?" she asked, not sure that she really wanted to know the answer.

"That I've wanted this _forever_ ," he replied, "That I've been imagining what it might be like to meet him since I was tiny, and now that he's _here_...now that _I'm_ here, it's all I can do to not just tell him everything about everything, and I want to kiss him—all the time, it's all I think about. Just kissing him and having him kiss me back and hold me, because have you even _seen_ him? Morgana." At that point, he looked like he knew how mad he sounded, but he couldn't help it when a small sob choked its way up his throat. "I know he doesn't love me, or anything. I _know_. But I love him. I just do. I really, really do."

Morgana stared at him then squeezed her eyes shut, wondering why this was happening.

"You can't," she murmured finally, her gaze snapping back to meet his.

"Can't what?" Now Merlin's irises were shining as leaned towards her slightly.

She took a deep breath, slowly shaking her head. "You _can't_ love him. This...this has got to stop, Merlin. He has a girlfriend, for Christ's sake, and he's _Uther's son_ ," she hissed out those last couple of words. "Do you think he'd be as prone to giving you all these fucking reading lessons and taking you out and even looking at you, if he knew what you were?"

"But—"

Morgana exhaled sharply. "He _hates_ us, Merlin. He hates what we are, and if we stay here much longer, he'll find out, and what then?"

"I don't know," Merlin whispered softly, "but I think he's a good man, Morgana. Maybe once Uther's died, he'll make things better. I think he can—I think he _will_."

"You don't know anything," she breathed, seething even though she wasn't sure if she was angry with Merlin or Arthur or herself. "You're just a child, for fuck's sake. How can you know you love him? How can you—"

But before Morgana could finish her sentence, Merlin was on his feet, and the room suddenly felt like it was compressing. Like all the air was being sucked out, leaving them in a vacuum decorated with cosy living room furniture.

"This is what it feels like," he murmured, and she saw that his eyes were burning gold in their sockets—that Merlin was radiating power. "Every time I saw his picture back over the Wall, I felt a fraction of _this_. And now, every second I spend with him, I feel it _all,_ and sometimes I feel like it's gonna kill me or that something inside's gonna explode and I won't be able to feel anything anymore."

The room was hot now, and Morgana couldn't breathe properly. Her head was swimming, and her heart was beating so fast she thought it might be more bearable if someone took a knife and cut it right out of her chest.

"Merlin," she gasped, stumbling to him and fastening her hands over his shoulders. "Merlin, _stop_."

And after a moment, he did. The light in his eyes died and suddenly the room was back at its normal temperature. Morgana was gasping for air.

The worst thing though, was that Morgana knew now exactly what Merlin was talking about and what that heavy, mind-numbing feeling was. Sometimes she got sparks of it herself, exhilarating in her veins whenever Gwen's fingers brushed with hers.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered, his voice tiny after the immensity of the magic he'd just used, "Morgana—"

"It's okay." Morgana pulled him to her, her arms locking around him in a warm and familiar embrace. "I'm sorry too."

"Love you," he whispered sincerely into the crook of her neck, and she couldn't squeeze him tight enough—couldn't send him a sufficient amount of silent apologies for how she would have to hurt him.

For how she would have to hurt them all.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

When Arthur got home, he let himself in quietly, half hoping that no one would notice his return so that he could slink up to his room and finally succumb to all the confusing feelings that wouldn't leave him alone all day, even when he'd been training.

As it was though, Merlin was sitting on the steps leading upstairs, staring down at his own fingers, which were knotted together, and wearing a small frown on his face. When Arthur shut the door behind him, the boy lifted his dark head to meet the blonde's eyes.

Arthur was the first to look away as he took off his jacket and hung it up on a hook by the front door to dry. "What are you doing there?" he asked, watching as Merlin shrugged from the corner of his eye.

"Got bored," he sighed, looking at him with a tired expression. "Morgana and Gwen are cooking—"

Suddenly as if to confirm his words, there was a distant bang from the kitchen, then the sound of a metal saucepan hitting the floor accompanied by much squealing and laughter. Merlin chuckled softly, slowly shaking his head. "And I thought it'd be best to leave them to it," he finished with a small smile.

At this Arthur gave a curt nod and cleared his throat, hesitating slightly before he finally moved to drop down on the step beside him and pressed his own palms together, adopting exactly the same stance as the younger man.

"So you've just been sitting here by yourself? For how long?"

Merlin pulled a face and thought for a moment, scratching his chin. "Half an hour?" he guessed vaguely. "I've been writing though." He reached behind him to pick up a piece of paper that Arthur hadn't noticed before, and it was covered in Merlin's handwriting, which was so familiar to the blonde now that he was sure he could recognise it anywhere.

He had even grown to like it, with its skinny O's and the way he sometimes put a capital letter when it was meant to be small, or the other way round.

"I thought that I'd write it all down," Merlin mumbled as he took the paper from him, "because...you said that I should tell you about the nightmares and stuff, when you got back. But I didn't know if...I wasn't sure I'd be able to...so I wrote it down there, but I didn't have anything to lean on so it's a bit hard to read, and the pencil went through the paper a few times." He gestured to the small holes, dotted about the page. "And I couldn't really fit everything on, so I shortened it, and I couldn't remember how to spell all the words I needed, so some of it might be—"

"Merlin." Arthur cut in calmly, hooking a finger under the boy's chin and tilting his face so that they were looking directly at each other's faces. Merlin fell silent at once and licked his lips. Arthur couldn't miss the way his eyes widened, pupils unfurling across the blue of his irises. In a split second, the space around them seemed uncomfortably warm.

The silence dragged on for longer than he could bear before the boy finally mumbled, "Yeah?" and Arthur let out a small sigh, letting his hand fall.

"Well done. For writing so much." He smiled when Merlin looked surprised, not trying to hide his delight at the older man's praise.

"Are you gonna read it now?" he asked, suddenly sounding slightly nervous, eyes flicking from the paper in Arthur's hand and then up to his face again.

"Do you want me to?" the blonde asked, and Merlin shrugged before the movement turned into a nod of his head halfway. Arthur chuckled softly at this before gazing meaningfully into the other's diffident blue eyes. "Then yes, I am going to read it now. But not here," he spoke, frowning down at the step with distaste. "C'mon. I'll read it in my room. Might get changed first though..." and he got to his feet, shortly helping Merlin up beside him.

***

Once they were in Arthur's room, Merlin hesitated just inside the door. Despite all the times he'd bounded inside to wake Arthur up in the morning, he'd never actually been given _permission_ to enter, and now that he had it, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

The blonde just strode right in—

_Well, it was_ his _room after all,_ the younger man thought to himself as he watched him with a careful gaze.

—and bent down to pull open the drawer at the bottom of his wardrobe and take out a pair of soft looking pyjama trousers. In an instant, Merlin's mouth went a little dry when he realised that Arthur was about to go on and get undressed _right in front of him_ because _that_ was definitely going to couple well with all these stupid feelings and thoughts about...about...

He inhaled deeply and took a step back with an anxious smile. "Hey, I'll just wait out—" Merlin almost fell over in his haste to get out of the room when Arthur started unbuttoning his trousers, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest the moment that the older man looked over and caught his eye.

"Sit down, Merlin," he sighed with a slight roll of his eyes.

Merlin swallowed and knew that at that point he was probably wringing his hands like the old woman who lived next door to them in Ealdor would whenever Merlin and Morgana would race in the corridor, and she was trying to get them to stop. Now, as he felt his hands twisting agitatedly, he had new sympathies for his old neighbour.

"Uh..." he uttered intelligently after Arthur turned away from him again.

"On the bed," the blonde added.

Merlin latched on to the instruction, stumbling over to the bed and sitting on the very corner of it, then brought his knees up so he could curl his arms around them and determinedly _not_ look at Arthur.

"Don't be such a girl, _Mer_ lin," was all the other man muttered as he changed, and at the same time Merlin could feel himself going red.

"I'm not a girl!" he spluttered crossly, wondering why his affection for the prat didn't decrease in the slightest. _It wasn't fair!_ the thought screamed loudly in his mind, until he heard a slight chuckle from the blonde.

" _Right_."

Merlin could hear the grin in Arthur's voice, which made it even harder not to look at him and catch him wearing the smug expression. He took a breath and chanced half a glance, only to let out a soft groan and give up on his foetal position, throwing himself back on the bed, spread-eagled like some damsel in distress.

Probably not a wise idea, considering he was trying to convince Arthur of his masculinity, but he was rewarded with a laugh that almost made it worth it. _Almost_ being the important word, as he vehemently refused to be appeased after being subjected to seeing Arthur in nothing but his boxers. He couldn't believe he was thinking it—although actually, he _could_ —but just that sight had provided him with enough wank material to last him the year. Couple of years, even. Perhaps the rest of his life.

After a few moments, he felt the bed dip beside him, and he deemed it was safe to peek through where his hands were pressed over his eyes to see that Arthur was wearing his stupid, soft pyjama trousers and looking at him with raised eyebrows. Merlin tried very hard to convince himself he was annoyed that Arthur didn't wear a shirt to bed.

"What?" he grunted stiffly, when the other didn't do anything but sit there, staring at him. Arthur just shook his head, all aloof and mysterious, and this time Merlin grunted _without_ words, in an effort to convey his displeasure. "You know it's only like seven? We haven't even eaten yet, and you're in your pyjamas."

"I am aware," was the reply, and Arthur was smiling gently when he reclined beside him so that their bodies were stretched out side by side. Merlin was surprised by the action and let his head fall to the side as he stared at Arthur's profile.

He knew that he had nice cheekbones, but Arthur had pretty fine bone structure himself, and Merlin suddenly found himself imagining what it would feel like to put his hand against his skin—to run fingertips over the ridges of his face and then dip down into the crevices of his neck and collarbone...

He stopped imagining when Arthur's head also turned, and they were looking into each other's eyes. In that instant, it became hard to think of anything at all.

"I'll put a shirt on before we go back down. It's too hot in this house," Arthur finished, and Merlin was confused as to what he was talking about for a second before he remembered—

_Pyjama bottoms. Right._

"I like the snow," Merlin mumbled, intending to change the topic. But then he blushed because who _cared_ whether he liked the snow? He was about to retract the statement to try and find a more interesting conversational route to go down, when the older man asked, in an intrigued voice:

"Why?"

"Who cares?" Merlin quickly replied, perplexed as he focussed in on Arthur's pale blue eyes and the fair eyelashes that encircled them. Arthur had pretty eyelashes. For fuck's sake.

"Me," the blonde told him simply, and holy hell, Arthur _cared_. Cared about Merlin, which was why he had been teaching him to read and write, and put on seatbelts, and kissing him before he went to work like they were some bloody domestic couple—the kind of couple Merlin had always liked to imagine himself being one half of, while the other half would be some faceless young man. Except his facelessness had looked a lot like Arthur, and his hair had been very blonde.

"Oh," Merlin said, his voice embarrassingly croaky. He cleared his throat a little before continuing. "Well, it's...cold?" he ventured, feeling his face flare up again.

Arthur just nodded, but his expression stated that he expected him to continue. That he _wanted_ him to continue.

It was that assurance which made him give a small shrug and explain—and how Arthur had managed, with so little probing, to make him tell him _everything_ , even though he'd _written it all down_ for him and obviously totally wasted his afternoon in the process, would always be a complete mystery to the younger man.

Although, he supposed it was mostly down to him: not everyone would have found a way to link snow to every goddamn horrible thing that had ever happened in their lives, but Merlin managed, and he had never talked about himself for that long before because he had never found the right person to open up to. Of course, he decided right away that he would say nothing of his magic or Morgana's, but apart from that, Arthur was all ears.

"It makes me feel calm," he started, not taking his eyes from the blonde's. "It's barely ever warm over the Wall. When it was, it...it threw me off balance, y'know? It's all the magic over there. It gets pent up and then all these sorcerers are secretly throwing curses up into the sky, 'cause they've got nowhere else to get rid of it. And it's never good spells—it's not _evil_ ," he'd hastily amended, "just not good. It never made the sun come out or anything like that. It always made it colder, and I didn't have a house for ages when I was little after my mum died."

For a moment, Arthur opened his mouth, looking like he struggling for the right words to say, but Merlin shook his head nonchalantly. "Doesn't matter. Was a long time ago," he murmured with a shrug. "But yeah, I kinda just stuck with my best friend, Will. And obviously it wasn't _nice_ sleeping on the streets and stuff, and we were always freezing our butts off if we didn't manage to find an air vent or something. Y'know the ones that always send out warm air that smells like cooking and stuff? You've got one round the back. If this house was over the Wall, it'd probably be me and Will's favourite when we were little because, I do _like_ warm things a lot. Like, loads. I'd hate to always be cold, but it's familiar. Winter here is the same as everyday over there, and it's nice to know you all have that, too. But if there weren't hot things, I'd have never had hot chocolate, and that'd be the worst..." he trailed off, deciding against adding ' _and there wouldn't be a_ you' at the last minute before he and gave a slight cough.

"Anyway, me and Will used to always sleep under this _huge_ air vent, and we'd zip up in the same coat 'cause we saw these two other kids do it once and..."

***

Arthur wasn't sure why he'd much rather hear Merlin _tell_ his story, rather than having to read it. Maybe it was because it felt like more of a triumph that way, getting him to open up about everything like Arthur had promised himself he would. Or maybe it was because Merlin's handwriting would take too long to decipher, and the kid himself had admitted to not being able to write it all down.

Or maybe Arthur's desire took it all the way back to basics, and he wanted to hear Merlin for the sake of hearing him. Because okay, so he _liked_ the sound of Merlin's voice, even when he was blathering on about something nonsensical and, all the times when he was 'zoning out' when Merlin was going on? Well, Arthur wasn't quite sure when 'listening with rapt attention' had changed its meaning.

Now he lay on the bed with the boy's paper clutched and folded up in his hand. He could practically feel Merlin's breath on his face as he talked, and God, did the kid drink _anything_ otherthan hot chocolate?

The talking went on for a long time, and this, too, made Arthur infinitely glad that he hadn't stuck to reading. How on Earth Merlin had thought he'd be able to get all of this onto two sides of paper was beyond him, especially as he wasn't the most concise being in the world.

When he had told him about his mother, the blonde had opened his mouth, perhaps to offer his condolences or to tell him about his own mother. About how he would have given anything to spend a day with her because Uther hadn't ever been able to do what some other single dads could—Uther had _tried_ to be a good father, but it never stretched beyond that, and the hole his wife had left behind had never been filled by anyone.

But this wasn't about Arthur, and when Merlin had shaken his head, the older man hadn't pressed but merely let his mouth fall shut as he listened.

After that, he found out about Merlin's best friend who had died and how he had lived in Ealdor for a spell before moving out and taking charge of another young child:

"She was magic, but it wasn't _her fault_. Every night she'd transform into this cat," he'd gone on reminiscently.

And _that_ , thought Arthur, explained Merlin's favourite animal. It was strange and ridiculous how he felt even the smallest twinge of jealousy when the other told him how he had loved her, and then sadness when the boy explained how much he missed her.

However, if the blonde had been feeling a _twinge,_ it was nothing to the tidal wave of emotions that crashed down on him when:

"The guy looking after us—" Merlin hadn't told him _anyone's_ names, "—eventually told us that there wouldn't be many ways for us to make money and stuff unless..." He trailed off, suddenly looking slightly scared, and Arthur noted how his hands clenched slightly at his sides and how his neck and tips of his ears flushed.

At this he automatically moved closer, barely aware of what he was doing when he lifted his hand to rub it up and down the younger man's side. Merlin seemed to melt a little under his ministrations and turned, leaning into the touch with a very quiet moan that was barely more than a gasp. He was positively _keening_ beneath Arthur's fingers.

"Tell me," the blonde murmured, but it still came out as an order, and they had both moved so they were lying on their sides, legs pressed together on top of the duvet. Merlin took a shuddering breath and somehow shuffled _even closer_ so that neither of them could really pretend this was nothing anymore. Arthur could count the dark blue flecks in his eyes, and it took all his own willpower not to reach out to push a stray curl of dark hair back behind his ear.

He didn't seem able to look at him as he said it, the redness of his skin worsening as he stumbled through the words:

"I was kinda...when I was fourteen I started...I mean. Morgana did first. She slept with some people and. And they paid her, a bit. Y'know. And then we needed money for everything so I did too, with people. I—"

And _that_ was when the tidal wave hit, and Arthur felt like he was sinking so rapidly that it hurt.

"Merlin," he cut him off, but the boy still refused to look at him. When he propped himself up, he saw that Merlin's toes were curled, like they always were when he was anxious, or ashamed, or trying not to throw himself against him.

He lowered himself back down onto his side, heart pounding as he looked at the other's face. "You were a prostitute," he said, quietly.

Merlin stiffened, his fists instinctively coming up to press against his own chest, like he was attempting to keep something locked inside.

"Stop that." Arthur reached forwards, gently tugging the younger man's arms away from his body.

Then he was pulling the whole of Merlin those few inches it took before their chests were flushed together and their foreheads were touching. Merlin let out another small, broken sound, and the blonde found his hands cupping the back of his head, fingers running fondly through his hair.

"I dream about," Merlin gasped, his own fingers unfolding from their fists and scrabbling instead against Arthur's shoulders before coming to rest loosely with one trapped between them and the other hanging over Arthur's waist. "There was one...one guy. And he wasn't...I didn't want..."

"Shhh..." Arthur shifted slightly, angling them both so Merlin's face was pressing lightly into the crook of his neck, and he could feel the younger man's lips moving when he talked, wet and hot against his skin. He didn't need Merlin to say anything more to know what had happened. He wanted to get up and punch something until his knuckles were bloody.

"He's not around anymore though," Merlin mumbled, his hand pressing against the other's back, like he was drawing comfort from the touch. "Morgana...uh. Saw to that."

_Good_ , Arthur thought, although he couldn't help but feel frustrated that _he_ couldn't have been the one to make the guy pay for what he'd done to Merlin.

"When did this happen?" he asked, instead of voicing his violent thoughts, worried when he could feel the boy shaking.

"Not...not that long ago. It was just before I got here. A week or so before."

In that instant, Arthur's eyes widened. He wasn't sure if he was glad Merlin hadn't been any younger when it had happened, or horrified that when he had let this kid into his house, he had been letting in a recent victim of what was essentially rape.

Something told him that Merlin didn't want his apologies, but hell. It didn't seem like he'd gotten any closure after what had happened—perhaps Arthur was the first person he'd really spoken to about it, and all he'd said was a few stilted words. With that in mind Arthur didn't apologise, but he didn't try to hide his sympathy either, whether Merlin wanted it or not.

Sometimes people needed a bit of sympathy. Sometimes they craved it, no matter what they said.

He held onto Merlin tightly, trying to pour everything into the embrace that the poor thing would have needed months ago and obviously still needed now.

"It's okay," he promised, even though it was stupid and untrue, "I've got you now. I've..." Arthur stopped talking when it became too much, despite the fact that he'd barely said anything. He was already too close to just telling this clumsy, brave, _lovely_ idiot that today had proved it. Today had proved that Arthur Pendragon had never really felt anything real for anyone until he met Merlin, and that the day he had to let Merlin go would be the day he learnt how to hold on.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sorry," the latter was repeating against his bare skin, over and over, shaking his head.

"It's okay," Arthur murmured again, his head and heart reeling from his own thoughts. "Nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm getting _tears_ everywhere," Merlin sniffed, and tried to tug away from the blonde, who merely held on tighter and tactfully did _not_ add that there was also probably a fair bit of snot and other undesirable fluids on his shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to give a damn anyway.

"It's really not a problem." he assured him with a sigh, unable to believe this was happening. He was in love with a boy who had got a combination of tears, snot and drool all over him. His taste was obviously impeccable.

"Sorry," Merlin muttered one more time then swallowed. "You know when...ages ago, I said that you weren't how I imagined you?"

Arthur gave him a gentle squeeze. "Vaguely." No need for the kid to know that he had started committing practically everything he said to memory for a very long time now.

There was a brief pause and another sniffle. "Well, I changed my mind."

At this the older man couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "I'm guessing that's a good thing?"

Merlin gave a small smile. "Yeah. The best."

Perhaps they would have stayed like that, and Merlin might have fallen asleep although it was only eight thirty and neither of them had eaten yet. Perhaps Arthur would have been able to ease them both up and carry the boy to his room, trying to pretend none of this had ever happened.

There were a lot of perhapses, even if Arthur guessed they were all pretty unrealistic. Still, he liked to think at least a couple of them had a chance of making it into real life before the bedroom door swung open.

Because, perhaps if he had been listening to anything apart from Merlin's ragged breathing, he would have heard the sound of someone walking up the stairs, and he would have had enough time to disentangle himself from the other man and come up with some kind of excuse.

As it was, Gwen walked in with a smile that quickly slipped from her face.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

Arthur watched with bated breath as Gwen took in the scene before her—of her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck he was to her now, cradling another man in his arms with his lips inches from his forehead.

Merlin shifted slightly when he sensed that the blond was distracted by something, then twisted and wriggled to try and sit up. Arthur merely ran a hand soothingly up and down his back, stopping him from getting into a position where he could see Gwen and her stunned expression.

She stood there for a moment, eyes locked with Arthur's, until Merlin mumbled:

"Arthur? What is it?"

Then she blinked and backed out of the room, shutting the door as she left.

"Nothing," Arthur murmured in his ear, his chest tightening when he heard the boy sigh contentedly.

"'Kay."

***

Gwen stood outside her own bedroom door for a full five minutes, just breathing in and out with her hand still on the door handle from where she had pulled it shut. Now that she thought about it, she guessed she really wasn't all that surprised, considering the fact that Arthur had been paying her even less attention than normal lately and that she certainly hadn't been as considerate of him over the last few months.

She had assumed it was simply the _stress_ that came with having two strangers move in with you, rather than the fact that they'd both been happier than they had been in the years when it was just the pair of them.

However, the thing that really shocked her most about this all, and maybe even disgusted her a little, wasn't the fact that Arthur was in there with his arms around someone else but her own reaction to the sight. The feeling that was flooding through her was incredibly akin to _relief_.

Gwen was _relieved_ that here, finally, was the confirmation that Arthur didn't love her. Or at least, that he had feelings for someone else.

There was anger too, of course. Anger that he hadn't spoken to her about it and that she'd just essentially been driven from her own room, but apart from that...

Her hand shook as it finally slipped from the door handle, and she took a step back. She suddenly felt very drained and had no idea what to do next. This was _Arthur's_ house. She had lived there for four years, but he had paid for it, and she supposed he could turn her out of it in a second. Not that she truly believed he would. No, he wouldn't ever—at this point in time, no matter whose heart belonged to who, Gwen couldn't imagine being somewhere where Arthur wasn't within calling distance.

Besides, she was surely getting way ahead of herself here: all that she had seen was...what? Arthur giving a teenage boy a cuddle. It could mean absolutely nothing at all.

And she might have actually let herself believe that, if it wasn't for how she had seen him looking at Merlin in a way he'd never looked at Gwen in her life, even though sometimes she had wished he would.

She was still standing there with her heart in her throat when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Gwen?" Morgana's voice was tentative when Gwen felt a hand on her shoulder, and she let herself sigh out from between her teeth before she turned around to face the younger girl.

"Uh, I just finished dinner. There's no way I'm going to be able to take it all out of the oven though, so—"

She hadn't finished her sentence when Gwen suddenly stepped forwards, wrapping her arms around Morgana's waist and tilting her head back ever so slightly to kiss her.

Morgana just stood there for a moment, arms hanging at her sides and eyebrows drawn in from confusion in addition to the overwhelming, general feeling of _finally_. After half a moment, her own hands were moving to wind in Gwen's hair, and she was pushing back into the kiss, sinking into the humming heat of Gwen's mouth and licking the bitterness of smoke from her lips from when they'd burnt the pastry downstairs.

It didn't really occur to Morgana what they were doing or why or whether it was right, or how she would have to make it up to Merlin for being a _complete_ hypocrite earlier, but she was moving forwards until Gwen was pressed up against the door of her very bedroom—the bedroom that she shared with _Arthur_ , and this would be all kinds of wrong if it wasn't for the fact Morgana had done much worse.

It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds of desperate heat between their mouths and hands fitting perfectly around each others' bodies before tapering out into smaller kisses: lips catching lips for seconds at a time and hands moving to skirt over the backs of necks and gently cup faces.

They ended with their foreheads pressed together, panting softly and just staring at each other, disbelieving.

"That..." Morgana trailed off before she could even start when Gwen's hand moved to thumb at her jaw line.

"What?" the other asked, sounding anxious and hopeful, and God, she was just so _gorgeous_ , and Morgana could pretend like she hadn't wanted this to happen for weeks now and that her knees weren't weak from relief that it _had_ happened, or she could just give in.

"Perfect," she finally sighed, "that... _you're_...just, perfect. I..." She shook her head, words completely failing her.

Gwen smiled so broadly that all Morgana could see were bright eyes and dimples, and there was a dizziness beginning to set in that made her glad she could brace her arms on the door, either side of Gwen's head.

They stayed like that for a minute, letting their breathing patterns sink into perfect synchronisation, and occasionally their noses would brush, and Morgana's eyes would be forced shut by the size of her smile.

Then in the next instant, the sound of beeping reached their ears, and Morgana tore away from the other girl before she ran over to the stairs, yelping, " _Shit_ , the pie!" and left Gwen with her hand clamped over her mouth, torn between letting out a helpless laugh of sheer _joy_ and having a breakdown right there.

In the end, she settled for somewhere in between, and when she joined Morgana in the kitchen, she spooned her from behind, pressing her face against the back of her neck and letting her shoulders shake with pent up shock at the same time as she smiled and smiled and _smiled_.

Morgana felt her there—the warmth of her arms encircling her and the way Gwen's mouth was twisted upwards, ever so slightly wet from their kissing, against her neck. It was blissfully warm, and soon she found herself forgoing the pie so that she could twist round and bury her hands back in Gwen's hair. She'd already turned the oven off anyway, so at least there was no chance of the house burning down.

"I really like you," she admitted, like it wasn't painfully _obvious_. But still, a little of the tension in Gwen's shoulders seemed to ease, so Morgana pressed on. "I've never...I've never felt like this about anyone before." And the words rang so true that it shocked even the person who was saying them in the first place. She thought that maybe, she'd felt a smidgen of this with Morgause, but in truth that relationship had been all about the sex, and despite everything, Morgana felt weirdly like the love she had for the older woman was _sisterly_.

All right, now that was probably too weird, and quickly she backed away from the thought, focussing instead on the fact that Gwen was speaking. And, as it had already been established a thousand times over the last few months, when Gwen spoke, Morgana listened.

"I like you, too." Her voice was almost shy and her cheeks were pink as Morgana held her close.

"But...what about Arthur? Gwen, where did this even come from?" she couldn't help but ask, although she hoped that Gwen read in her tone the unsaid ' _not that I'm not totally delighted by everything that just happened_ '.

"I don't love Arthur," she replied simply, although it looked like it hurt to do so, and the other tightened her arms around her. "I mean. I _love_ him, but not like I..." Suddenly she pulled back with a nervous expression as she twisted her hands in front of her.

"Not like you what?" In a split second, Morgana pushed herself away from the kitchen counter, butterflies in her stomach. "Gwen! Not like you _what_?"

" _You_!" Gwen finally burst out, stunning Morgana in her loudness and obvious frustration as she gestured up and down at the taller girl. "You just...just _turned up here_ , and you are the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, and _I_ chose to kiss you. You're the first person I've..." She took a deep breath, now looking downright terrified.

"Gwen, _please_." Morgana didn't quite know what she was begging for, but she thought that whatever Gwen gave her would probably be good, and she was right when Gwen steeled herself to continue:

"You go running with me, and you never give up, ever. You barely knew what a brush was and weren't so proud that you didn't let me help, and I don't think you even realised how...all those times when it was just me and you and you'd just come out of the bath, and you're _beautiful_ , Morgana. All right? You just are, of course you are. And you cook with me and sit next to me and hold my hand, and I just...you're the first person I've ever _fallen in love with_ , completely on my own. You're the first person I've fallen in love with, full stop."

When she'd finished, Morgana stood still for a whole three seconds, during which Gwen's fear seemed to turn to resolution in her eyes—as if now that she'd said it, she knew there was no taking it back, and she was ready for any reaction Morgana might have.

That was when Morgana surged forwards in one fluid movement, crushing her lips back against hers and trying to tell her everything in a fierce, desperate kiss because Gwen had stammered her way through that speech, but Morgana wasn't sure now that she'd be able to speak at all.

Gwen loved her. She. Loved. _Her_.

And Morgana loved her back. She really, honestly, soul-deep _loved her back_ , and now she realised that the reason she had come to this house in the first place didn't matter anymore. Morgause's plan could _never_ be put into action because Morgana didn't even think she would ever really have been able to kill Arthur anyway.

Especially not now, with Gwen's lips soft and insistent against hers. There was no chance she would ever hurt her or jeopardise this perfect piece of happiness she had found, living in the so-called enemy's quarters.

Arthur would live. Morgana just had to find a way to let Morgause know.

***

The two girls ate dinner alone—the pie was burnt but not inedible, and Morgana thought it tasted entirely of win. Gwen had laughed out loud when she'd said that, and before she went to put the plates in the sink, she'd kissed the top of Morgana's head. The place where her lips had touched _burned,_ and Morgana felt fuzzy from it. At that moment, she understood why Merlin had been so over the moon when Arthur had kissed _him_ in the same spot.

Morgana had offered to call Merlin and Arthur down, but that had been when Gwen had explained where they were, which had made Morgana tense at first, wondering what exactly the blond had been doing with the boy _in his bed_ , but Gwen had assured her that all they had been doing was lying there, holding each other.

After eating though, they went back upstairs, and Morgana was the one to slip into Gwen's room to see the two men for herself, tangled together on the bed.

Arthur looked like he was only just awake, his hand moving in a ceaseless pattern over Merlin's back and through his hair. He looked up when Morgana came in, and for a moment stiffened, like he was afraid she was about to take Merlin from him.

But that wasn't until Gwen stepped in behind Morgana, and there was a tense instant where he just stared at her. He could almost feel her, the one thing he thought would always be solid in his life, slipping away. "Arthur," she whispered.

After a second, he loosened his hold on Merlin, and Morgana wordlessly walked over and crawled on the bed, shaking the latter gently until he stirred.

"Arth'r," he slurred, eyes blinking groggily. Immediately, Arthur's hand was there on his face, his thumb tracing the soft skin beneath his eyes.

"Morgana's taking you back to bed, Merlin," he murmured softly, and for a moment Merlin frowned before he shrugged sleepily.

"I like Morgana," he told him, and Morgana rolled her eyes, hugging him carefully as she half led, half pulled him off the bed.

As they passed Gwen on the way out, the two girls brushed hands.

"Goodnight," Gwen told them, feeling strangely distant. This whole thing was almost too surreal.

"Night," Morgana answered, at the same time as Merlin's tired "nunight."

Then they were both out the door, heading back to the guest room.

***

By the time Gwen had changed into her pyjamas and slid into the bed, Arthur had moved so that he was under the covers waiting for her.

She lay there beside him in silence and tried in vain to remember a time when things had felt this awkward.

"Arthur..." she began, unsure where to head after that, but luckily the blond took over anyway.

"I didn't know how much I liked him until today. I promise, Gwen. And we didn't do anything—he was telling me about over the Wall. I didn't _know—"_

"It's okay," Gwen interrupted, feeling him grow tense beside her and resting a hand on his arm. "I know that...we. Us. We haven't really been..."

"Working out," Arthur replied with an exhale, "Yeah, I know, but that didn't give me an excuse to—"

"Comfort someone who you care about, and who obviously needed you?" she filled in. "Yeah, it did. In fact, you wouldn't even have needed an excuse. I just wish you'd told me you felt like that. Merlin's so—"

"Young? _Male_?"

Gwen sighed, and Arthur felt her shrug her shoulders beside him. "I'm focussing more on the 'young' part. 'Male', I don't have much of a problem with."

"Still...would it make it better if I assured you that it wasn't you who turned me?" His tone was almost playful now, until she looked at him instead and murmured quietly:

"Would it make you feel better if I assured you of the same thing?"

For a moment, he didn't seem to get it, but then his mouth popped open, and she laughed before reaching over and pushing it shut again with a finger to his chin.

"You and Morgana," he decided after a moment.

"As of about two hours ago, yeah," she agreed, "It just sort of happened. After I saw you and Merlin on the bed, Morgana came upstairs..."

"Do you actually like her...like that?" he asked tentatively.

At this, Gwen took a deep breath. "Yes. I really do, Arthur."

"Oh." Arthur pursed his lips for a second. "I guess that turned out pretty well then."

The other smiled, a little sadly. "I guess."

"Is this..." The blond turned so he was lying on his side, his brow furrowed like there was something he didn't understand. "Is this it? For you and me?"

In that instant, Gwen felt something tighten in her gut. For a brief moment, she wanted to say _no_ and pull him to her and never ever let anyone else take him or even come for her.

But Arthur must have seen something frantic in her eyes because suddenly he was enveloping her, and his lips were pressed against his forehead.

"We're going to be all right, Gwen," he promised, and she felt herself relaxing against him, believing him.

"I love her. But I don't want to leave you," she whispered against his skin.

"Merlin won't want to leave Morgana, either," Arthur murmured into her hair, and she nodded in agreement. "We're all so fucked," he laughed, feeling Gwen grin in response.

"It'll work out though," she offered, though he wasn't sure who she was trying to reassure.

"Yeah," he agreed before gently releasing her and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "It'll be fine."

***

Morgana watched as Merlin twisted restlessly in his bed for a few moments before she sighed and climbed in beside him. Immediately he stilled, letting out a soft, contented humming noise when he felt her presence next to him.

"You think you'll have nightmares tonight?" she asked quietly, as she brushed back his fringe. His skin was eerily pale in the moonlight.

"Nuh," he mumbled, shaking his head, "'m good."

He always pretty much replied the same way whenever Morgana asked him, but tonight, for the first time, she actually _believed_ him.

"You know when before, I said that you couldn't love Arthur? That he would hate us, if he knew what we were?"

Merlin blearily cracked an eye open, looking weary as he surveyed the slim girl beside him. "Yeah?"

"I was wrong." She pulled the duvet up so that it was covering them both. "I think he's good for you, Merlin."

But at that, to Morgana's surprise, the boy let out a derisive snort.

"Please," he yawned, knuckling his eyes before settling down. " _I'm_ the one who's good for _him_. Obviously."

***

The next day was a Friday, and Arthur rolled out of bed, not quite sure how or why he felt simultaneously elated _and_ heavy—that uncomfortable heavy he got whenever he knew he had forgotten something but had no idea what.

It all came back in a rush that made him feel dizzy when he looked down at Gwen, and his mind screamed _Merlin_.

"Shit," he muttered, his hand flying up to press against his forehead. " _Shit_!" And goddamn it, he couldn't decide whether to grin like a complete idiot or throw up. He settled with grinning though, as it was altogether less messy, and instantly slipped from his bedroom to walk down the corridor.

He'd been halfway towards the guest room—although he supposed it was safe to simply label it 'Merlin and Morgana's room' now—when the door creaked open, and Merlin padded out, barefooted in Arthur's old pyjamas.

They stared at each other for a moment, before the younger man gave him a small, sheepish grin.

"Morning," he yawned, taking a step closer. "I, uh...I was gonna come and wake you up." He shrugged. "And also say sorry for yesterday." When he grimaced a little, Arthur imagined him reliving the memory of sobbing against his shoulder and then being practically carried by Morgana back to his room.

"No need for that," he replied gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He was pretty sure that the aura he was giving off screamed _out of my depth,_ which was absurd, because Arthur didn't _do_ that. Arthur never dove in so deep that it wasn't easy to come up for air.

"Okay." Merlin was looking intently at the floor, his right foot stuck out in front of him and brushing side to side across the carpet. "Well. Thank you." He took a deep breath before looking up at the blond, his expression hopeful in a way that took Arthur's breath away. "You wanna go downstairs?"

There was a short pause. "Yeah." Arthur's hand fell as he let out a sigh of relief. "Come on then."

***

Apart from the fact that they were both perhaps a little more distracted than usual, what with Arthur feeling a strange zinging sensation whenever he reached out to steady Merlin's hand or correct his grip and Merlin seemingly unable to hold Arthur's gaze for more than a moment without turning beet red, the morning ran as it usually did.

By noon, Merlin had regained most of his confidence to the point where he was comfortable enough to loll all over the table top, practically drooling on the latest issue of _Camelot Now_ , which Arthur had long ago started buying once a week.

"Get up," the older man sighed, poking at Merlin's side, although the action was less than half-hearted. Merlin merely lifted an eyebrow at him before sticking out his tongue, whilst somehow looking affectionate at the same time with his eyes all heavy lidded. The sight made something warm unfurl in Arthur's stomach, and he tried to distract himself by wondering how on earth the boy could be tired after falling asleep so early the night before.

In the end, Arthur gave up trying to make him act like a normal human being and pushed back his chair to stand up. Merlin followed the movement with his eyes and then, when Arthur was too far back, somehow managed to make it so that he was shifting his chair around without actually lifting his head from the table.

"How are you even real?" Arthur snorted softly, to cover up some the honest awe in his voice. But Merlin just shrugged, looking ridiculously smug.

"You shouldn't own such a comfy table," he complained, "comfy tables are only asking to be laid on."

" _That's_ not laying," the blond pointed out with some disdain, and thank God he hadn't lost all ability to be a bit of a prat when it came to Merlin. "That's _sprawling_. And if it's comfy, it's only because you've got your own thick head as a pillow."

"But that doesn't make much sense," the younger man pouted, being unfairly diplomatic considering the pair of them had forgotten breakfast. "If my head's thick, which by the way, it isn't... although if it was, that'd be _your_ fault seeing as you've been teaching me for the last four months and eight days—" Something inside Arthur _might_ have lit up when the kid revealed he knew exactly how much time they'd spent together. "Anyway, if my head's thick, surely that'd make it even _more_ uncomfortable to lie on, which makes your table like...like a hundred and seven times comfier."

Arthur just blinked slowly in response to Merlin's rather roundabout argument. "I don't even know what that was, but I am not going to deign it with a proper answer," he replied, shaking his head and pulling open a drawer to rummage through.

"Just because you know I'm right." Arthur could practically hear the grin on Merlin's face and was glad that his own fond smile wasn't visible.

"Shut up, Merlin...ah!" Suddenly he straightened up and span back around, feeling triumphant.

Merlin attempted to get a good look at what he was holding from his awkward position, slumped over the table, before finally giving in and sitting up.

"What?" he asked, craning his neck in a way that should be illegal, and Arthur was momentarily distracted by the expanse of untouched skin it presented...

"Uh..." The blond fumbled for a second, dragging his eyes away and back to the small piece of paper he was holding. "It's something for you to do when everyone's out today. Because...you know how you don't like being left here alone."

"Oh..." Merlin uttered confusedly, frowning at the paper. "What...there's something for me to do on there?"

"Merlin." Arthur rolled his eyes before dropping the paper in front of the dark haired boy. "It's not something for you to colour in."

At that moment, the boy shot him an ' _I know'_ look before picking up the paper and squinting at it. It looked like some kind of business card.

"What does it say?" he asked eventually, and Arthur recognised the slight edge of frustration in his voice, the same as he got whenever he couldn't read something immediately.

"You tell me." Then he moved to stand behind him and gently squeeze his shoulders. "Come on...just read it out carefully—one syllable at a time."

"I know that says _Professor_ ," Merlin jabbed at the first word and tipped his head back to shoot Arthur a playful scowl. He knew what it said because the latter had jokingly tried to get him to call him it, around their third lesson, and when Merlin had flat out refused, he'd spent the rest of the day learning to spell it.

"Good." Arthur smiled. "And the next word?"

"It's hard," Merlin grumbled, focussing on the small black print.

"Give it a go." This time the older man was insistent and felt a small shudder run through Merlin when he ever so slightly tightened his grip on his shoulders.

"Kilg...kilg. har." The boy's tongue twisted his way around the first few letters, his forehead furrowed in concentration. "Kilg-ha-rah," he mumbled, looking hopefully up at Arthur, who finally smiled and took pity.

"Professor _Kilgharrah_ ," he chuckled, "he was my old English teacher—that's the name of my school, there." He pointed at the bottom of the card. "Camelot's Comprehensive. I thought I could drop you there today? He could definitely give you a better lesson than me."

At that point, Merlin's fingertips had gone a little white from how hard he was holding onto the card, and he bit his lip. "I've never been to school before." he muttered softly.

"I know." Arthur gently took hold of the other's upper arm and guided him to his feet. "But you'll only be visiting, and you don't have to keep going back or anything. Kilgharrah's great anyway—a bit, uh, cryptic but generally quite cool. You can just look at this as a new experience."

"But, you'll still be teaching me here though, right?" the boy asked quickly, resisting Arthur's efforts to pull him into the hallway, looking anxious.

For a moment, the blond loosened his hold and smiled reassuringly. "Of course, Merlin."

Merlin's lip twitched as he relaxed. "Okay, fine. Let's go meet your clueless—"

" _Cryptic_!"

"—English teacher," he finished with a long, suffering sigh.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

Merlin held tightly onto Professor Kilgharrah's card for the whole twenty minute drive from Arthur's house to Camelot's Comprehensive. Every once in a while, he caught Arthur giving him sideways glances but for the most part, they were both staring resolutely out the front window.

"What if—" Merlin started to say, but then stopped himself with a sigh, bringing a hand up to knuckle at his eyes.

"What?" Arthur prompted as he turned a corner.

The boy hesitated, seemingly struggling with the phrasing of his sentence, before saying in a rush:

"What if it's really embarrassing because I'm too stupid, and all of the other people he's ever taught are really perfect and clever and then there's me and I'm just...not?"

Arthur frowned, fingers tapping out an agitated little rhythm on the steering wheel.

"You're not stupid, Merlin," he finally admitted, after about ten seconds. At this Merlin's jaw opened and shut a few times before he folded his arms protectively over his chest, and Arthur didn't miss the way his fingers flitted to brush over his top pocket before falling still. Suddenly, the older man was overcome with an intense curiosity to know whether Merlin still kept all those newspaper clippings...

"Thanks," Merlin mumbled, "but I am with all this reading and writing shit."

"No, you're not. You've picked it up quicker than I would have believed, Merlin. If anything, Kilgharrah'll be impressed." When he looked disbelieving, the blond gave him a small nudge with his elbow. "I _promise_ it'll be all right."

"Okay, fine." Merlin sighed, and Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes at the way the young man seemed to be trying to sink into his seat.

***

_Merlin..._

In an instant, Merlin looked up at Arthur. "Yeah?"

But Arthur only frowned. "'Yeah' what?" he asked as he pulled into a parking space.

Merlin sat there confused and then contemplative. "I thought you said..." he trailed off and shrugged, deciding that this wouldn't be the first time he'd been imagining things. "Never mind."

For a moment it looked like the blond was going to probe him for answers, but he just shrugged too, exclaiming, "Hey, we're here!"

Immediately, the boy opened the car door before Arthur had properly finished driving, and he'd admonished in alarm, yelling, " _Merlin!_ " but the other was already clambering out to stare up at Camelot's Comprehensive.

It was a huge, red brick building with a slanted slate roof and wide, friendly windows. The entrance gate was slightly ominous with great bars of black iron stretching so far up that Merlin had to tip his head back to see the barbed top.

He was so busy looking that he didn't notice Arthur come up behind him until he tapped him on his upturned forehead.

At this, Merlin jumped violently. "Hey!"

" _Such a girl_ ," the other muttered, rolling his eyes as he strode past Merlin to enter some kind of key into a small electronic lock to the left of the gate.

_Merlin!_

"I'm coming, I'm coming, Jesus." Merlin grumbled, absentmindedly batting at his ear as though his name had been whispered right next to his face. Except of course it hadn't, because Arthur was the only one around who knew his name, so it must have been him who'd spoken.

"I didn't tell you to hurry up," the blond commented, eyebrow raised as the smaller man joined him with an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

"You keep saying my name!" he told him, peering over Arthur's shoulder to try and see what number he was punching in.

Arthur swatted him away with a laugh. "No, I don't. God, if you keep acting _this_ mad, you'll probably become Kilgharrah's favourite."

At that, Merlin pondered for a second. "You know, your teacher really sounds like a, uhm... _interesting_ guy."

"And you really sound like a lunatic." Arthur replied, perhaps a little too curtly to be fond, but Merlin could hear it anyway. "Now move out the way, or the gate'll hit you."

Quickly, and a little unnecessarily, the boy squished himself against him as the gate finally swung open.

"How do you know the special code thingy?" Merlin asked, a small pout making itself known on his wide pink lips.

Arthur did his best not to stare at them. "My father is _Uther_ _Pendragon_ , Merlin," he reminded him, "I _know_ things."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Right..."

_Merlin!_

"Okay," he exhaled, grabbing hold of Arthur's arm and bringing him to a standstill just inside the gate. "Who the _fuck_ is calling me?"

Arthur gave a small sigh. "Look, Merlin. If you really don't want to be here, we can just go home and you can stop pretending to hear things or whatever the hell you're playing at now."

"I'm not—" he tried to explain, but the blond only shook his head.

"Then we're good to go?" he asked, possibly a _little_ exasperated at this point.

"But—" the younger man protested.

" _Merlin_." This time Arthur was staring at him with a level of intensity Merlin wasn't used to, and he found himself fidgeting under the gaze.

"I...yeah, Arthur. I want to meet him."

For an instant, Arthur looked suddenly like he was appraising him, his eyes roving over his face, and the boy squirmed uncomfortably before whining.

" _Arthur—_ "

The blond closed his eyes and gave a long, suffering sigh. "All right then, let's go. You're going to make me late for work at this rate."

***

Merlin stuck close to Arthur as they entered the building, so close that they were constantly bumping into each other, because Merlin kept turning round in full circles as they moved, trying to take everything in.

The older man moaned that he was slowing them down, but Merlin knew he didn't mind really, and he wouldn't have cared much if he had minded anyway, since he was already eager to drag him along to look at the display boards and peer through the window of practically _every_ classroom door they passed.

"You're so lucky!" Merlin kept saying, every time he came across something new, along with: "This is _so cool_!" and "Arthur, can _we_ get an electric sharpener?"

"Sure," Arthur answered the last question distractedly before snagging Merlin's arm and pulling him down a corridor, headed with a sign reading: _English Department_. He was trying not to dwell on the reasons behind the boy's enthusiasm—the thoughts of how he had never been properly educated, despite his obvious keenness for knowledge. It only made him think too hard about his father's failings and made him feel ill.

"Holy shit," Merlin suddenly gasped, his arm jerking in the other's grip as he stared intently down the English corridor.

"What?" Arthur asked, having long ago decided that there was no point trying to curb Merlin's slightly crude tongue.

The younger man merely blinked, eyes wide. "Nothing," he replied after a moment, letting out a long breath. "There are just some awesome displays."

"Huh," Arthur snorted disbelievingly, "you're not hearing things again then?"

" _No_." Merlin glared, looking surly, then pranced off down the corridor, as if this proved he didn't have any voices in his head.

The truth was though, that the moment he had put a foot into the corridor, he had felt it: the feeling of magic had hit him like a burning brick to the stomach and it was _so strong_ that he was surprised Arthur couldn't recognise it too.

Merlin used to be immune to such atmospheres, back when he still lived with Freya because every night when she'd turned, the air had seemed much like this: thick and crackling with energy. Morgana could always feel it too, but never as strongly.

"Arthur," he hedged as they walked, eyes flitting from door to door. "What did you say Kilgharrah was like, again?"

The blond only shrugged. "He just talks a bit funny. I wouldn't understand what he'd go on about a lot of the time—it's like his mother language was 'riddles'. Not that he's not a great teacher!" He quickly tacked on, "Just a bit..."

" _Different_ ," Merlin finished for him when they finally stopped outside the only door that they had passed so far without a window.

"Nothing wrong with different." Arthur smiled slightly, and Merlin had to stop himself from leaning back into the touch when he rested a hand at the base of his neck.

_I'm glad you think so,_ he thought a little dryly, looking at the older man for confirmation before wrapping on the door with his knuckles.

***

Professor Kilgharrah looked a lot younger than Merlin had imagined, although his hair was still streaked with silver, and the lines on his face looked irremovable. He was wearing a well tailored dark green suit, which clung to him like a second skin, and his eyes were dark and beady, so that the overall effect was how he appeared almost _reptilian_.

"Professor." Arthur smiled warmly in the presence of his old school teacher before holding out his hand to have it shaken by Kilgharrah's, which Merlin noticed was frail and irritated slightly at the joints between his fingers. Dark red rashes interlaced with the thin webs of flesh, and the skin was peeling slightly in places.

"Arthur," he beamed toothily up at Arthur, who didn't notice the way the boy froze beside him, his mouth falling open in shock. "I haven't seen you in these halls for about six years. It's a good thing you rang ahead, or I mightn't have believed it when I saw you."

At this, Arthur's grin turned into a grimace. "I probably ought to have visited—"

"Nonsense," Kilgharrah immediately waved him off, dropping his hand in the process and turning to fix his gaze on Merlin, who still hadn't moved a muscle. "You must be Merlin, then."

The young man swallowed, hoping that Arthur would simply put his trepidation down to nerves. In which case, he'd be spot on anyway though—for Merlin couldn't remember the last time he'd been so petrified.

"Uh...yeah. Nice to meet you." He reluctantly stuck his own hand out and tried not to cringe when Kilgharrah took it, only to find that the old professor's grip was warm and comfortable when Merlin had almost imagined it to be slimy.

"Right!" Arthur clapped a hand to his shoulder, causing him to stumble. "I'm going to be off then. I'll come pick you up on the way back from work, all right?"

"Wait," Merlin uttered and found himself clutching the hem of the other's coat, eyes wide. "Uhm...what...what if work doesn't end till late?"

In response, Arthur smiled gently. "I promise it won't. And I would say that you could go back a bit earlier if you wanted to see the girls, but I think it's best you stay off public transport for the time being, eh?" And Merlin knew that he was thinking of all the wanted posters. His shoulders sagged. He couldn't believe he was going to be left here.

"Don't be _too_ long," he whispered, low enough so that he was sure only the older man would be able to hear.

"I won't. Be good." With that, Arthur leaned forward to brush his lips against Merlin's forehead, before giving Kilgharrah a small wave and leaving the room.

***

Merlin stared after Arthur with his lips slightly parted in a gape as he wondered dazedly whether Arthur would make a habit of these kisses before leaving for work, and found himself fervently hoping this would be the case, before the other man left in the room brought him back to the present.

"So, you and Arthur..." the old professor began shrewdly.

Merlin spun around, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the professor. "You're magic," he accused straight away, "I heard your voice in my head—how did you do that?" But then he finally took the latter's remark into consideration and paused with a confused expression on his face. "Wait—what about me and Arthur?"

But Kilgharrah only smirked. " _What,_ indeed." He pulled up a chair in front of one of the desks and sat in it, motioning for Merlin to take the seat opposite him.

The boy hesitated at first, fingers skirting over the back of the chair, before he gave a small resigned sigh and lowered himself into it.

"Arthur said you never gave straight answers," he muttered, propping his chin on his hands and staring at him, as though he might find the answers he was looking for if he spent long enough losing himself in those glittering eyes. Suddenly he was hit by another thought. "Does Arthur know? About...y'know—your magic and stuff?"

Kilgharrah just smiled. "Where were you when you first heard me calling?"

"Uhmm..." Merlin contemplated, "in the car with Arthur. When we parked outside."

"Interesting." Kilgharrah's fingers formed steeples in front of his lined face, nails slightly longer than average and yellowing. "Most people would have had to be in the corridor to have heard."

Merlin licked his lips. "I guess I'm just not most people?" he asked uncertainly.

"No," the old professor chuckled in reply, "you certainly aren't, young warlock."

Merlin's jaw, which was still a little unhinged after Arthur's kiss earlier, hit the tabletop at that.

" _What_?" he hissed furiously, "do you even...you can't go around calling people stuff like that in fu—in bloody _Camelot_!" Merlin reined back his swearword at the last minute, reminding himself that he was in the presence of a _teacher_ who wasn't Arthur, and that the kids over the Wall had always been terrified of everyone working at their schools. Kilgharrah didn't seem particularly scary though...apart from the way his skin seemed to be flaking and how he appeared to know all about Merlin despite the fact that they'd never met.

"You don't deny that's what you are, though?" Kilgharrah lifted a dusty grey eyebrow, and the other scowled.

"Yeah, I _do_ deny! I mean—" He struggled internally for a moment, wondering exactly how much this weird old guy knew. "I mean, I have a bit of magic, fine. You seem to be aware of that anyway, so congratulations on being psychic or whatever, but—"

"Dragon."

" _Huh_?" In that instant, Merlin stared at Kilgharrah like he'd spoken a different language.

"I'm not psychic, young warlock. I'm a—"

"You are _not_ a dragon, shut up!" he yelped, springing up to his feet, "and _don't call me that!_ "

Kilgharrah surveyed him from where he sat for a moment, before letting out a put upon sigh. " _Merlin_ ," he spoke, and the boy relaxed a little at the use of his name, "I sensed your powers the moment Arthur mentioned you on the phone yesterday. And I have known about you since _before you were born_." His eyes didn't leave Merlin's face as he waited for his words and their meaning to sink in.

It only took about a minute.

" _What_?" And Merlin was quickly becoming tired of the mantra.

"Please, sit back down," the old professor sighed, looking at the seat that he had just so abruptly vacated. Not long after, Merlin followed Kilgharrah's gaze, before grudgingly falling back into the chair.

"There is no real, safe way for me to prove to you right here that I am what I say I am," Kilgharrah began after a moment, "but if you could see me in my true form, you would not doubt that I _am_ a dragon. The last of my kind, in fact."

"You don't _look_ like a dragon," Merlin insisted.

"Don't I?" Kilgharrah spread his arms, letting Merlin take a good look.

"Nuh-uh," Merlin shook his head, although a little more uncertainly because there was no going against the way the man's grey tie snaked down his front like smoke escaping from a flame and how his suit, upon closer inspection, had actually been designed to look like it was made up of a thousand emerald scales.

"You can keep denying what you already know, Merlin," Kilgharrah continued in a hushed voice, "but it's the truth, whether you choose to believe me or not. And do you think that I would go around just telling _anyone_ what I am? Do you think I could ever be that stupid?"

"No?" the boy tried with a tentative expression on his face.

" _No_ ," the dragon-man-teacher- _whatever_ replied, leaning back in his chair. "But I'm telling _you._ Uther Pendragon put me in this body, and I have been waiting for you for longer than you've been alive. You have a destiny, young warlock, and it is my duty to tell it to you, as is it yours to fulfil it and _set me free_."

All this was too much for Merlin to comprehend in such a short space of time, and he knew that now a strong mixture of confusion and awe must have been painted pretty clearly over his face.

"My...my _destiny_ is to set you free from _your own body_? And why did Uther do this to you? I thought he killed all the dragons! And how did you know about me? You haven't told me yet—does Arthur know about your magic? Why _me_?" he streamed the questions without pausing, ticking them off on his fingers as he went.

Kilgharrah just sat and listened until Merlin fell silent. Then he answered them, keeping his wording _very_ careful.

"Uther killed all the dragons, except for me. I was kept as an example, although to whom I have no idea. He forced me to use my own magic to bind myself inside this... _hideous_ ," he groaned as he gestured disgustedly to himself, "body. Then he forbade me to tell anyone who I really was—and if I told anyone, he said he'd have me killed. I asked if I was allowed to work as any other human would, and he granted me permission to do so, although I believe he was... _dismayed_ when he realised I would play a part in his own son's education." Here, Kilgharrah smirked before continuing, "I knew about you because, dear boy, _all_ the dragons knew about you. And the druids, and the other warlocks and the wizards and witches...they all _still_ know about you."

"But...but _what_ do they know?" Merlin's face was screwed up in disbelief. "I'm nobody! I come from over the Wall, and I'm not anyone—"

"You can cast spells without incantations. You were using your magic since the day you were born—before you could even walk or talk. Without your magic, you feel like you would be nothing. It is a part of you, _in your blood_ , and you would not survive if it was taken from you. Magic to you is like air to other humans and like fire to a dragon. It is _inside_ you and it is your breath. You have always been destined for great things, Merlin, and it pains me that you were not brought over the Wall sooner. _You are unique._ "

Kilgharrah finished talking, his hands now resting flat on the table and his mouth a thin, calm line. The boy on the other hand was flushed pink, his own mouth opening and closing.

"This is too much," he murmured faintly, "I mean...that's me. The magic thing? That's all true—I can't imagine being without it. But I'm not _special,_ and you must have the wrong person. You just _must_."

In an instant, the professor's eyes flashed, and for the first time he looked angry. "Don't tell me what I _must_ have. You heard my call, and despite what you have displayed to me so far, I know that you are not stupid."

"Hey!"

Kilgharrah flared his nostrils as he went on. "You think that it is just some happy coincidence that you turned up on Arthur's doorstep and, despite the environment he grew up in, he took you in? You think that it was luck that brought you to him, at the same time as he started to realise that what he has with Gwen is nothing more than a shadow of what could have with you?"

"Yes, I do!" Merlin blurted with conviction but then paused and pursed his lips uncertainly. "Wait...hang on, what about Gwen? A shadow of what he could have with who?"

Suddenly the dragon was on his feet, a mass of green and grey towering over him. "It was _fate_ , Merlin. Not luck or chance. Your destiny is to protect Arthur until he takes his father's place in ruling over Camelot. Uther may not be a great king, but his son will be, and you will help make it so. You have already had ample time to get to know him, and the fact that you love each other is just an added bonus. The end of Uther's reign is near, Merlin, and you will be there when he falls to pick up the pieces."

There was a long pause.

"But we don't love each other. Well, he doesn't love _me_. God, I really can't handle this right now." Merlin let his face fall against the table and spoke against the wood so his voice came out muffled. "You can't just throw destinies and shit around like that—"

_Turns out he wasn't so adverse to swearing in front of teachers after all._

"—it's bad for people's health. Also, I have no idea how I'm going to protect _Arthur_. He's the one who's all strong and brave and whatever. And are you saying Uther's going to die or something? Where does freeing you come into all of this?"

Kilgharrah pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before relaxing back into his seemingly default, calm exterior.

" _Firstly_ ," he started slowly, "Arthur loves you. End of story, no more discussion. A blind man could see it. Secondly, how many times must I remind you that I'm a dragon? It is totally within my rights to throw around destinies as I see fit, and I don't care whether you think Arthur's the most brilliant, brave man in the whole of the universe. He still needs you and _will_ need you in the near future, more than you can possibly imagine. Thirdly, I am not saying any more about Uther. Paths change more quickly and subtly than even I can follow, and whatever happens to him is undecided. Lastly, you will free me because I am _telling you_ that you'll free me. We will not discuss that any further for the time being, either."

Merlin didn't say anything for about half a minute after that as he processed. It was all so insane, and he felt a little queasy from it.

"Am I allowed to ask any more questions?" he ventured eventually.

Kilgharrah only just refrained from rolling his eyes. "Yes."

"Okay. So..." he began in a contemplative tone, "are you a transformer?"

"Like Freya?" the latter inquired in response, making Merlin's eyes widen in shock until the other man gave him a look saying, ' _Really? The fact that I know_ this _surprises you?'_

And Merlin gave a begrudging shrug. "Yeah."

At this, Kilgharrah slowly shook his head. "Well then, no. Freya changes every night and, if she receives proper training, she will perhaps be able to change at _will_ and maybe even keep some of her more human personality traits in the process. I cannot change without another person casting the right spell, at the right time."

"Oh so...so..." Merlin trailed off, suddenly feeling like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, "wait, what did you say?"

The old man gave an exasperated sigh. "I said that, without the right spell—"

" _No_." Merlin shook his head violently, looking wild "You said that Freya—"

"Oh—"

"—chang _es_ every night. You said that, didn't you? Sir!" Merlin leant across the table, face pale and half scared looking "Do you know where she is? If she's still changing, she must still be alive. What about Gwaine? _Please_ if you know you have to tell me!"

But then Kilgharrah was shaking his head, and Merlin could have screamed.

"Why are you shaking your head? Where are they? I have to save them, me and Morgana have to go get them, we have to—"

"Merlin," he cut him off, his expression sad but his voice firm, "Your place is this side of the Wall now. You _cannot_ cross over."

"But that's _not fair_!" Merlin burst out, his hands slamming down on the table. " _You_ don't get to decide where I go, and if Freya needs me, which she _does_ so long as she's alive, I _have_ to go to her. You can't stop me."

At that moment, the room abruptly, inexplicably, became colder, and Merlin drew his legs up onto his seat and held them to his chest, curled up instinctively as the degrees steadily dropped.

"What the—"

"Magic is a force which can be used for good or for evil, young warlock." Kilgharrah evenly voiced, watching as the other shuddered convulsively. "You have the chance to let the goodness in it _shine_ , as long as you _stay here_."

"How a-are you d-d-doing this?" Merlin chattered, staring in awe as frost began to creep up on the windows, coating them in a sugary white layer.

"You know how," Kilgharrah told him, " _fight it_."

With that, Merlin blinked rapidly before slowly unwinding his arms and getting to trembling legs.

"You're not cold," he whispered, each word curling white through the air as they slipped between his lips.

"I burn from the inside, Merlin." Kilgharrah's breath was dark like smoke, and the dark haired man shuddered as the smell of it reached his nose: it was the scent of wood as it was set on fire beneath a sorcerer's feet.

_I can do that too,_ Merlin thought, pulling himself up a little taller as blue eyes dissolved to gold. _I can burn_.

No words were said in the next few seconds—Merlin was too cold by now to speak anyway, as Kilgharrah's magic coursed around him, _through_ him. His own spell, when cast, was completely internal and almost instinctual as it shot through his veins like a drug. The boy moaned as he felt it writhe in his stomach before setting alight in a burst of harmless, invisible flame.

At once, the cold was gone...or at least Merlin could no longer feel it. He could see it though: the residue of Kilgharrah's curse were like specks of crystal blue, floating where only those with magic could see, and the ice was still smothering the window pane.

"I thought you would destroy it completely," the old professor murmured, head cocked to the side as he looked at Merlin like he was trying to understand him. And Merlin almost laughed at the idea that _he_ was being the confusing one.

"I like the cold," Merlin replied clearly with a slight shrug, "Why would I want to destroy it?" And it made him feel shockingly relieved to know that there was at least one thing the dragon hadn't known about him from the start.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

By the time Arthur came to pick Merlin up, he and Kilgharrah were sitting side by side with the younger man diligently writing out sentences in a yellow exercise book.

He knocked on the door to give them a chance to look up and see him before finally swinging it open. Merlin was at his side in a moment and, to Arthur's surprise and pleasure, gave him a hug with long arms wrapped snugly around his middle for all of three seconds before he stepped away again, blushing slightly.

"Good to see you, too," Arthur chuckled, grinning at Merlin's embarrassment, and might have succumbed a little to the happy glow that had suddenly ignited inside him. "How's everything been?"

Kilgharrah got heavily to his feet, picking up the boy's exercise book as he went over and handed it to the blond to look at. "You've taught Merlin well, Arthur. I'm impressed."

At that, Arthur flicked through the pages quickly, his heart swelling at an alarming rate as he skimmed over the words. It was still the handwriting he loved most though—the way it had changed since they first started until now. If the professor was right about someone's handwriting being representative of their personality, Merlin's would have him down to a T:

It sprawled almost lazily across the page, sometimes to the point where it was illegible, but always with the air of a set of words that were trying to convey an extraordinary amount of meaning within their thin lead lines, which were _always_ thin—Arthur couldn't remember the last time Merlin had written with a blunt pencil.

"He's a better learner than I would've thought at first glance," he teased, and Merlin's lip twitched before he muttered:

"Clotpole."

Arthur snorted, "What _is_ that even?" and the other just shrugged, grinning as he snatched his exercise book back out of Arthur's hands. The blond rolled his eyes before reaching out to ruffle Merlin's hair and then turned to Kilgharrah.

"Thank you for today," he said, his tone respectful.

"It was a pleasure," Kilgharrah assured him, his eyes flicking between the two boys. "I don't have any classes at all on Fridays, so Merlin's always welcome to come by."

"Thanks," Merlin mumbled, his hold on the book tightening slightly as he gave the professor a small smile.

"Come on then." Arthur tapped Merlin on the shoulder and turned to lead him out the classroom. "See you soon, professor," he called over his shoulder.

"Goodbye, Arthur. Merlin." He nodded to them both then, when Arthur was already out in the corridor, caught hold of the younger man's arm to lean close and whisper in a rush:

"Remember everything I have told you: you and Arthur are two sides of the same coin, Merlin. Do not let him out of your sight, and you will see Freya and Gwaine again. Also, Morgana—"

"What about her?" Merlin frowned. Morgana had barely been mentioned all day.

"She isn't all that you think she is," was all that the dragon said, and Merlin couldn't do more than splutter.

"What the hell are you—"

At that moment, Arthur stuck his head back into the classroom. "Merlin, hurry up! Gwen texted to say they actually want to eat at some point today."

He nodded distractedly, his eyes still trained on Kilgharrah's face. "Right."

The dragon held his gaze for a moment then his hand slid from Merlin's upper arm until their palms brushed in the phantom of a shake.

***

Arthur couldn't be bothered with the hassle of keys when he got back to the house, so he banged on the door instead.

"Someone answer!" he yelled, "It's bloody freezing out here."

After an instant, they heard the sounds of someone inside running to the door, then the scrape of it being unlocked and pulled open. Morgana stood just inside, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her eyes bright.

"Hey," she beamed, looking past Arthur and dragging Merlin over the doorstep. "Are you all right? How was today?"

At this, the older man rolled his eyes as she left him standing there without so much as a backwards glance. " _Oh, and it's nice to see you, Arthur,_ "he grumbled, making his own way into the house.

***

Merlin and Arthur sat opposite the two girls at the dining table, Merlin with his elbows propped on the wood as he shovelled noodles into his mouth at an alarming rate.

"If you choke and die—" Arthur had just begun to make a scathing remark about the boy's disgusting eating habits, until he actually _did_ start choking and the blond was forced to thump him on the back.

"Yeah?" Merlin wheezed, at the same time shooting an apologetic glance at Gwen, who looked a little horrified.

"Nothing," Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes and thoroughly ignoring how Merlin was pressing his bare toes against his own slipper-clad feet.

After dinner, the four of them moved off into the living room with the men taking the sofa while Morgana lay on her front with a book on the floor. Gwen sat cross-legged beside her and finally, when it got late and all the talking stopped, and Merlin's head was lolling onto Arthur's shoulder with his lips inches from the bare skin of the older man's neck, she caught his eye.

Arthur watched, only partly distracted by Merlin's hot breath against his skin, as Gwen very deliberately ran a hand up Morgana's back until the younger girl looked back at her and smiled.

Then they found each others' hands, even though it was a slightly awkward position, fingers interlocking as Morgana gave up on her book.

_That's it, then_ , Arthur thought, wrapping an arm around Merlin's waist and pulling him even closer. If the relationship between him and Gwen had been... _rocky_ last night, it was truly over now, and he felt strangely hollow but not in the horrible empty way. It was more like something had been removed from his chest, specifically so that something more important could take its place.

Merlin sighed against him, his face tilting as he nosed sleepily at the space behind Arthur's ear and where his hair lay soft at the nape of his neck.

The blond chuckled softly at the sensation, turning his own face to breathe Merlin in: a few days ago he had smelt like chocolate. Now it was the same, except with something even deeper which he hadn't caught before—possibly it was his own scent, the one he had before Arthur had introduced him to cocoa, and that had at first been hidden under weeks of filth.

It was spicy and _hot_ , and Arthur found his hand cupping the base of Merlin's skull as the young man drifted on the brink of sleep. He thought it was strange, how Merlin smelled of all the things that made your tongue burn, when his skin was so pale and his eyes blue like the sea in winter.

"I think it's time for bed," he murmured, and the dark haired boy made a soft, snuffling noise of agreement. Arthur smiled gently and got to his feet, tugging Merlin up alongside him.

Morgana looked up at this and yawned herself. "I'm kinda tired too..."

"Me too." Gwen uncrossed her legs with a small groan and clambered upright.

"Yay, all sleepy..." Merlin's voice was muffled where his face was still buried in the crook of Arthur's neck.

"You're ridiculous," he informed him, although he sounded abnormally happy over this fact as he guided Merlin upstairs.

Morgana still took over though when they reached the guest room, her gaze shrewd, and Arthur tried to shrug like he didn't care when Merlin's familiar weight was removed, but he couldn't help how his touch lingered on the boy's wrist before he stumbled to bed.

Gwen waited for Arthur outside their own room, looking uncertain with a blanket clutched in her hands.

"I...I thought I could go sleep down—" she began, looking uncertain, but the blond cut across her and only reassured her calmly by saying:

"Hey, it's fine. _I'll_ take the sofa." And he gently prised the blanket from her grip.

She stared up at him for an instant, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she stood on tiptoes to kiss him chastely, for only a little more than a moment, and neither of them felt anything more than the physical press of flesh on flesh before they pulled apart.

"Night, Arthur," Gwen muttered quietly.

Arthur just nodded, arms tightening around the quilt as she backed into their room— _her_ room now, if not the old room— before he turned to head back downstairs.

***

Morgana propped herself up on one elbow to watch Merlin as he knuckled his eyes into wakefulness.

"'Gana," he mumbled, eyelids fluttering as the moonlight hit them both and spread out around them on the bed like a silvery dress.

"Yeah?" she murmured back, reaching forwards to fondly brush his fringe back from his face.

He took a breath, ever so slightly leaning into her touch. "Y'know...how we always...we tell each other everything?"

Morgana knew that she stiffened slightly at that but forced herself to relax, fingers trailing delicately over his forehead.

"I do," she assured him in a whisper, even as something in her heart jolted painfully.

"You'd never not tell me something if it was important, would you?" He was searching her face intently now, and Morgana wondered where these questions had suddenly sprung from.

"I've never kept anything from you, Merlin." The promise was broken before it left her mouth, and in a split second her heart already started to thump wildly at the lie.

"'Kay," the boy murmured, instantly trusting her reply. "You should go next door."

" _What_?" Morgana blinked, perplexed at the sudden change of subject. "But why—"

Merlin shrugged, twisting away from her touch to bury his face in his pillow. ""I heard Arthur go downstairs. Gwen's gonna be by herself. You should go to her."

"I don't mind staying with you." she told him gently.

"I know," he replied softly because he _did_ know, "but you'd prefer to be with her." He peeked up at her, smiling slightly. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" she pressed, her hand returning to rub between his shoulder blades. "What if you have a nightmare?"

"I won't. I _promise_ ," he added upon noticing the doubtful expression that started to form on her face, "It's fine."

Even so, Morgana still took her time moving from the bed, but, if she had really wanted to stay, she would have simply _stayed_.

"Love you," she whispered fondly, brushing a kiss to the back of his head.

At this, Merlin couldn't help but chuckle quietly with a small smile. "You too."

There was the sound of soft, bare feet leaving the room and then the click of the door shutting behind her.

***

Merlin waited for two minutes before sitting up, suddenly a lot more awake than he had been before. His heart was thrumming heatedly in his chest, and he had to take a few steadying breaths before getting up and padding from the room after Morgana.

Instead of turning into Gwen's room though, he continued down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. He doubted that Arthur was asleep already, but he hoped he was—for once, Merlin wasn't looking for a run-in with the older man.

He kept walking until he reached the front door then he eased it open, praying that no one would hear. Only a sliver of the outside world was showing when cold air began seeping into the house, and Merlin slipped out the moment it was possible, pulling the door closed behind him.

The cold was biting when he had a surreal moment where all he wanted to do was lie down in the snow and have it overwhelm him— _freeze_ him until he could feel nothing but ice and winter and _calm_. The day's end had been long coming, and he was still desperately trying to come to terms with everything Kilgharrah had told him.

What would Arthur say if he heard about this destiny? What would he say if he found out about Merlin's magic?

What would he have done, had he heard how adamantly the dragon had insisted the pair of them were in love, and...what had he said? Two sides of the same coin?

The dark haired boy buried his face in his hands, toes curling in the white snow and feeling it crunch between them until they were numb, like he wished he was all over.

In a minute, he would go back inside and return to bed. But for now, he would just have his own little mental break down.

***

Arthur had been trying to get comfortable on the settee when he heard the sounds of Merlin coming downstairs—and of course _he_ would recognise the sound of those footsteps anywhere.

He had half expected the other to turn into the front room to see him, but when he had gotten to his feet to look into the hallway, he'd only just been in time to catch the boy unlocking the front door and stepping outside.

He hesitated for a moment, trying to reason that Merlin was practically, if not more than _almost_ a grown man, and if he wanted to take some kind of moonlit stroll at a quarter to one, he was well within his rights to do so.

Arthur's resolve soon faded however when he spotted Merlin's shoes by the stairs—which meant that they weren't on his feet.

"Oh, for God's sake," he moaned, stamping his own feet in preparation before hurrying to wrench the door open and joining the other man in the driveway.

Merlin was standing with his back to him, facing the road. His hands weren't hanging at his sides, but Arthur could see that they were instead hiding his face, long white fingers curling up and into his hair and thumbs bracketing his sharp jaw line.

The young man's shoulders were shaking at that point, and the blond instinctively found himself reaching towards him, before he was even near enough to touch, because it was more than clear to him that they weren't tremors from the cold.

" _Merlin_ ," he whispered, just before he reached him, and the latter instantly spun around, hands falling in the process.

Up above them, the grey sky seemed to be bursting at the seams, clouds exploding into snowflakes that floated down to melt on the tip of Merlin's nose and shimmer on his eyelashes, which were already wet.

Arthur tentatively lifted a hand before burying it in his thick dark hair, watching with bated breath as the younger man studied him before shuffling closer the same time as he pressed back and made the most of the heat that radiated from Arthur's palm.

The blond's other hand moved to rest against Merlin's face, his thumb building a bridge between his upper lip and right cheekbone, carefully mapping the freckles and the splits in the pink flesh.

He wanted to ask what was wrong—wanted to find out who or what had made Merlin cry, but the words wouldn't come. He was terrified that if he didn't act soon, they would both be too cold, and if only his damn fingers would stop shaking, he could lean forwards and—

Merlin's chest was warm through the t-shirt he had worn to bed, and Arthur's breath stuttered when he pulled the other man so that they were flushed together, noses touching in the dark.

" _Arthur_." It was the first time the boy had spoken since Arthur had joined him, and it sent shudders through them both. By this point, Merlin was trembling so much that the blond thought it might be best just to get them _inside_ , but then it was too late because they were too close.

Arthur's softly spoken " _oh_ " was lost as Merlin's mouth pressed against his, easing his lips apart with his own until he couldn't even remember what the cold was.

All he knew in that instant was Merlin and Merlin's lips and Merlin's hair and Merlin's skin and the way _Merlin's_ fingers were curled in his shirt and how their feet were pressed together, the pair of them drawing endless _heat_ from each other's bodies.

Arthur didn't even know how long it lasted, but when they were finished, neither of them was shaking anymore. Everything was impossibly still and quiet, like the snow was absorbing the sounds of the city just for them.

***

Arthur led Merlin back inside by the hand, slipping and sliding over the doorstep and onto the carpet. Then he grabbed a coat from the hook by the door and wrapped it tightly around the other's shoulders, about fifteen minutes too late.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he muttered, rubbing gingerly at Merlin's arms. "You can't just wander around outside dressed like that."

"Y-you did," The younger man pointed out even as he stood there and allowed himself to be practically towel dried.

But Arthur didn't even deign to reply to that, and when Merlin wasn't so soggy from the snow anymore, he pulled him straight into the living room.

"Take your shirt off," he instructed, "It's way too damp to wear, and you'll just get ill."

At this, Merlin wasted no time ridding himself of his shirt and then his trousers too. "They're wet as well!" had been his explanation when Arthur raised an eyebrow.

It was the most undressed the blond had ever seen the other man, and for a second, he couldn't take his eyes from Merlin's chest: his ribs, like rungs on a ladder, were underlined with shadow, and above them his nipples were pink and peaked.

Arthur cleared his throat slightly before stripping off himself, dropping articles of clothing until they were both just in their boxers.

"I'll get you something to—" he hadn't got the suggestion out of his mouth before the dark haired boy was directly in front of him.

" _Now_ , please," he breathed, voice soft and high as he suddenly gripped Arthur's waist.

And Arthur immediately knew what he wanted.

"Merlin..." he began hesitantly, even as his own fingers traced Merlin's collarbones, "it doesn't have to be now..."

But the younger man just stared at him, and Arthur instantly found it impossible to look away when he could _feel_ Merlin against him and how hard he was already as he pressed into the blond's hip.

"It does," Merlin breathed hoarsely, his hands skating desperately over Arthur's chest as he drank in the sight of him. "Arthur—" his eyes lifted to somewhere over the other's shoulder. "If not, I have to go." And he was blushing, throat working as he swallowed hard. "I can't...I need to go upstairs, I—"

" _No_." The older man gently gripped Merlin's chin and turned his face so that they were looking at each other again. "I don't want that..."

"But you think I'm not ready after Cenred," Merlin spoke in a flat voice, and Arthur winced internally because those _were_ his exact thoughts.

"Are you?" he asked softly, pressing his forehead to his and ghosting their lips together.

Merlin shrugged his narrow shoulders, but the movement soon turned into a fervent nod. "I am, I am, _I am_ , Arthur. I wanted this for so long—I'm ready, I can forget him, you can make me forget. I _want_ you. I _love—_ "

And the blond wondered how many sentences would actually get completed that night when he took Merlin's face and mouthed away his declarations at the same time as he returned them with his own actions.

"Okay," he murmured with a quiet chuckle, heart hammering in his chest. "Okay."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

They ended up on the sofa, kissing lazily with Arthur's fingers making lines up the tendons of Merlin's neck. The younger man was pushing back, his tongue learning Arthur's mouth with an efficiency that _might_ have been off-putting in the way it reminded the blond of Merlin's past profession, if it wasn't for how Merlin kept shuddering from arousal, small gasps escaping every few seconds.

After a while, Arthur's hands slid down Merlin's back, making their way over the knobs of his spine at leisure and pulling back ever so slightly to give the other room to explore Arthur's chest with quick fingers. He groaned slightly when they tugged at some of the fair hair on his torso before travelling lower to swirl around his belly button, pressing lightly in all the ticklish places.

Eventually, Arthur trapped Merlin's hand with his own and _pulled_ , guiding him until he was straddling his lap. The other man's eyes were dark when he surveyed Arthur, his lashes casting long black shadows across his face and over his lips. Arthur couldn't help but stretch, craning his neck until Merlin realised what he wanted and leaned forwards eagerly, so Arthur could attempt to lick the darkness away from his soft red lips.

At this, Merlin shifted slightly, and Arthur noticed the way he was rocking against his thigh, his face flushed with want.

" _Fuck_ ," Arthur breathed before pressing the heel of his palm against Merlin's clothed erection. At this, the younger man hissed, suddenly lifting his hips so that he could shimmy out of his boxers. Next thing Arthur knew, he had a lap full of completely naked Merlin, complete with foppish hair hanging low over his brow and wriggling toes.

"I kind of always thought," the boy whispered as his fingers tangled with the hair at the blond's nape, "that our first time would be in a bed."

"Oh?" Arthur nosed along Merlin's neck—finding in an instant that he really fucking _loved_ Merlin's neck—and then began to suck at the skin there, his teeth scraping ever so slightly. "Is that all you imagined?"

"No..." Merlin's voice was strangled, and he let out a shaky gasp when Arthur pulled away, lips glistening. "Sometimes...sometimes we weren't anywhere near a bed. We'd both be naked and... _holy_ _shit,_ your cock." His eyes went almost comically round when the other freed his dick from his boxers with a quick tug of fabric. It curled up hard against his stomach, and when Merlin moved closer, it brushed with his, and the friction was like static between their bodies.

"Tell me then," Arthur murmured, wrapping his hand around both their cocks and flicking his thumb over the head of Merlin's so that he whimpered. "We'd be naked and... _what_?"

Merlin shook his head, taking hold of Arthur's shoulders and moving up, trying to fuck into the blond's hand. "I'd suck you off," he panted fervently, his lips by Arthur's ear now so he could hear the uneven breathing—feel the slickness of that breath on his skin.

Arthur shuddered then clung to Merlin's thin frame, his hands moving to wind around his middle and hold him close as he attempted to stand. At first, Merlin keened at the loss of attention to his dick, but when he realised what Arthur was trying to do, he slid from the other's lap and stood up. Arthur rose in front of him, thanking him with a long, searing kiss that left him literally weak at the knees, to the point where he felt his legs trembling with the effort to stay upright, until he understood that Arthur had no intention of releasing the hold he had around his waist.

He let out a small sigh and sank against the older man, allowing him to support him as he leant over to fiddle with something on the side of the sofa.

"Arthur?" Merlin frowned, "What are you— _oh_." Arthur moved back, pulling Merlin with him as the sofa unfolded, turning into a plush double bed right before their eyes.

The blond smirked in satisfaction at Merlin's awe before sitting him down on the edge of the bed and lowering himself to his knees in front of him.

His first, wild thought was that maybe Arthur had dropped something, and now he was on his knees to find it because _surely_ there wasn't any other explanation. But the latter didn't _appear_ to be searching for anything, or if he was, he had found it and 'it'was Merlin's hard on.

Arthur's thumbs rubbed circles into Merlin's hipbones before moving to the outsides of his thighs, caressing the flesh there at the same time as he mouthed at Merlin's knees—hot kisses pressed straight against his skin. Merlin writhed for a moment, uncomprehending until he found his legs beginning to fall apart under Arthur's ministrations, giving him space to move forwards and in between them.

"I said that I always imagined _me_ sucking _y—_ "

Arthur looked up at Merlin from beneath pale eyelashes, watching curiously as he stopped talking, stunned at the sight of him from this angle. "Please don't tell me you're complaining," was all he said before leaning forwards to lap teasingly at Merlin's inner thigh.

"No, 'm not," he gasped, his hands suddenly fisting in Arthur's hair. "Don't stop."

The other's laugh was breathy, and it almost sounded as though he was losing a bit of control when he finally brought the tip of Merlin's cock into his mouth, immediately licking away the precome. Merlin barely made a sound, although Arthur felt his legs tense considerably either side. He slowly sunk further, bringing Merlin deeper into his mouth at the same time as rubbing the boy's flank—a silent request for him to relax and to _trust_ Arthur.

After a few moments, he did so and his grip in the blond hair loosened ever so slightly. Then, his hips jerked forwards hard, seemingly without his permission, and Arthur pulled off with his eyes watering.

"Bit of warning, love," he murmured, wondering whether Merlin felt the same thrill in his stomach at hearing the endearment as Arthur felt saying it.

"Sorry..." Merlin had his eyes squeezed shut like he was afraid to look at the man on his knees in front of him. "Sorry, _sorry_ —"

"Hey," Arthur pressed a warm kiss to the very base of Merlin's cock, drawing back to the tip by running his tongue along the vein. "It's fine." And he waited for Merlin to open his eyes before swallowing him down, making sure the younger man was watching as he took him all the way, relaxing his throat until Merlin was hitting the back with each uncontrollable thrust.

Arthur wondered, as he felt Merlin coming undone above him and _inside him_ , when someone had last done this for Merlin. Whether _anyone_ had, or if all the relationships the dark haired man had over the Wall had been purely for business.

With this thought in mind, he encouraged Merlin with a moan to fuck his mouth, not caring when tears gathered at the corners of his eyes from the strain and when it became hard to breathe. Merlin's fingers pulled sharply at Arthur's hair when he came with a shout, slumping forwards so that he was almost curled around the blond, who didn't draw away until his throat was thick with Merlin's taste.

The kiss they shared after that was filthy, and the older man dominated Merlin's mouth, licking his way in and smearing the other's tongue with his own come. Merlin was flushed and sweaty when he dragged Arthur up so they were both on the bed together, unable to get enough of each other and of the slide of skin on skin as their chests clashed and fingers locked.

Merlin could still feel Arthur's erection, ridged against him, and he reached for it.

"I want you to _fuck me_ ," he whispered, hand hard around Arthur's dick, eyes heavy lidded and longing.

Arthur paused, contemplating and trying his hardest to put the other's needs first. It wasn't as difficult as he would have expected it to be, and he found his own desires easily falling back to second place.

"Are you sure you're ready?" he asked, caressing the side of Merlin's face and sliding his leg between his as they lay side by side.

Merlin nodded with a gasp. "Yes, _yes_ , Arthur."

Still, the older man was hesitant as he looked at him, pliant and _hungry_ for something other than the food he was so fond of stuffing himself with. Not that Arthur would have it any other way.

"Wait," he instructed all of a sudden, getting off the bed and making his way to the door.

Merlin sat up at once. "Where are you going?" His head was cocked the side, and he looked ready to throw himself across the room.

"I just need to get a few things from the bathroom," he explained a little awkwardly. Merlin made a soft noise of understanding and crawled back until he was nestled in a corner of the bed.

" _Be_ _quick_ ," He whispered, eyes bright as his fingers clutched at Arthur's blanket. The blond merely nodded, his pulse quickening to a roar, before leaving and taking the stairs at a run.

***

Merlin sighed at the feeling of sofa cushions against his bare skin—where they pressed against his back, he could _still_ feel Arthur's touch. Everywhere his fingers had brushed tingled like someone had splattered candle wax over his skin.

He thought of how Arthur had been looking at him, in a way no one else had before: not like he was just something to be used, but something to be _adored_. Arthur had given him a fucking _blow job_.

Merlin groaned and his cock twitched as he relived it, looking down and imagining how Arthur's head had bobbed back and forth, the muscles in his neck and shoulders flexing as his lips stretched wide around Merlin.

By the time Arthur got back, he was stretched out on the bed, one hand fisted around his cock while the other was pressed against his mouth. He didn't see the older man walk in but felt him climb onto the sofa-bed and let out a soft gasp when he gently touched his forehead.

Merlin's eyes, which had been tightly shut, flew open in surprise, and he groaned when Arthur prised his other hand away from his body.

"I'll make it worth it," he promised, his smile slightly tremulous with uncharacteristic nerves when he ripped open the condom packet that he had gotten from the bathroom. Merlin watched as Arthur rolled it on, taking his time to make sure it was secure and trying to take even breaths.

" _Hurry_." His voice was so quiet at that point that Arthur almost missed it, but he sped up a little, biting the cap off the lube and squeezing it into his palm.

He couldn't quite get over how perfect Merlin had looked when he'd entered the room, his back slightly arched as his cock hardened for the second time between his fingers. "I want to do this properly," he whispered as he reached down to slick himself up, "This is as much for you as it is for me, Merlin."

The younger man's gaze looked bemused, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with that statement, but then he nodded slowly. "I know," he murmured, although it didn't quite sound like the truth. Arthur sighed and leant forwards to kiss Merlin, mumbling when they broke apart with both panting.

"I hope you do."

After that, he made sure his fingers were coated generously with the lube, and he was moving to skate his fingers towards Merlin's entrance, when the dark haired boy scrambled to move onto all fours, arse in the air.

Arthur blinked in surprise, kneeling up straight to drape himself over Merlin's back with one hand playing with the boy's nipples as he asked, "You prefer this position?"

Merlin shrugged. "Haven't tried any others," he admitted in a whisper, voice hitching when the blond's nails dug slightly into his skin.

Arthur hesitated, inhaling deeply before kissing the back of Merlin's neck and then making his way down his curved back to the top of his cleft. The younger man canted his hips once without meaning to before forcing himself to stop with a gasp.

"It's okay," Arthur breathed, his tongue dipping hotly into the crack and teeth nipping at his flesh. "Just want you to feel good."

"Why?" Merlin breathed, his voice sounding almost unbearably lost, and it made Arthur want to hit something that he even had to ask.

"Because I care about you," he told him, the words breaking even as he said them. "I mean... _fuck_ , Merlin, you mean _everything_ to me. Just please, tell me what you want."

For a second there was silence, and Arthur thought Merlin might not reply, but that was when he heard:

"I want to see you. Your face—I want to see it when you..."

He stopped talking when Arthur's hand flattened securely over his belly before pulling him up so that the blond's chest was pressed against his back. Then he was being turned around, fingers steady and sure as they handled him, moving deftly over his ribs and arms until they were nose to nose and forehead to forehead.

"Like this?" Arthur's breath ghosted over Merlin's lips, and he couldn't reply except to stare. The older man's face was blurred like this because of how very close they were now. Merlin couldn't make out whose body was whose, and the air mingled, shared between their mouths. In the end, he simply nodded, overcome by their proximity and their combined warmth.

Arthur was exceedingly gentle to start with, somehow managing to get his hands between them to push against Merlin's chest and get him to lie back on the bed, all long lines of alabaster skin in the snow-flecked moonlight.

He took his time, roving Merlin's body like it was a map of all the places he'd ever wanted to go; like he was one of those white sheets of paper Arthur had become so accustomed to seeing in the younger man's hands or sticking out of his pocket, waiting to be written on.

Waiting to be taken over.

He licked at every crevice—the hollows at his throat and shoulder blades, the dips around his hipbones—and kissed all the blank spaces between the bones under his skin and the veins running up his wrists.

Then he pushed Merlin's legs, bending them and taking his hands to make him hold them up at the knees, spread wide and wanting. For an instant, Merlin's fingers went white from how hard he was clutching at his own legs, eyes round with uncertainty.

Arthur circled his entrance with a single finger, wishing he knew what to say so that Merlin knew he was going to do everything to make this perfect. In the end though, after slipping the tip of his finger past that hot ring of muscle, feeling it give way beneath his touch, Merlin's ambiguity seemed to vanish as he pushed down.

"More," he urged, hands slipping so that his feet slammed flat on the bed as he groaned. "I can take more."

Arthur grunted and nodded, moving so he was directly between the boy's legs, working his finger in to the knuckle, and then adding another. Merlin's hips rolled as the blond got into the rhythm of finger fucking him, crooking his fingers as he searched for that space...

He knew he had found it when the younger man let out a soft mewl, face shining with sweat with his eyes trained on Arthur's face, never wavering once to look anywhere else. He pressed again, harder, pumping in and out with sure thrusts, thinking that he might be able to come from just watching Merlin fall apart.

" _Now_ ," Merlin suddenly gasped, catching Arthur's wrist and stopping him from pushing back. "Don't...can't wait anymore—" he swallowed, his whole body trembling with effort or need or _something_ , and Arthur could feel himself slipping—realising that there was nothing he _wouldn't_ give to this boy.

He withdrew his hand completely, reminding himself that this was what Merlin wanted when he whimpered, toes curling into the mattress.

Arthur could barely keep his own hands steady as he lined himself up, strung so tight from not coming—from _staving_ off until the other man was completely ready—that he felt hot and cold all over. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this thoroughly aroused, like if he didn't get inside Merlin right _fucking_ now, he would die.

It took the younger man reaching up towards Arthur for him to finally thrust forwards, sinking inside with a groan that came from the very bottom of his gut. As he sank deeper, Merlin was able to reach his face, light fingers hovering over his skin and dusting over the bridge of his nose.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlinmerlinmerlin _merlin_..." somewhere along the line where their bodies met, his name had become Arthur's breath—he couldn't exhale without it leaving him, feeling like it was filling him up even as the other boy tightened around him.

They rocked to the brink, and Arthur wondered whether it was Merlin's intent to simply keep them there, right at the very top without ever spiralling back. It was ecstasy as the older man had never known it: writhing and firm and so damn _good_.

After a few moments of hard bliss, Merlin lifted his legs to wrap them around Arthur's waist, urging the blond to pull him up until he was on his lap, hands tight on his broad shoulders. Then, every movement was making Merlin's eyes slide shut, his forehead falling into the crook of Arthur's neck as he wriggled, bringing the blond to the very edge with every hot clench of his arse around his dick.

They both came at the same moment when Arthur dragged a blunt thumbnail up the underside of Merlin's rigid cock and he yelled, biting at the meaty part of the older man's shoulder. It was the feeling of his teeth and tongue, on top of the heady sensation of being _inside_ him that made lights burst white in front of Arthur's eyes.

When it was over, the older man didn't pull out straight away, instead manoeuvring them both so that they were lying down, pressed together for one delicious minute, before Merlin mumbled against his skin:

" _Sticky_."

And Arthur laughed, rolling his eyes and muttering, "Way to ruin a moment," before slipping from the other's body and sliding off the condom to lob it into the bin across the room, making a mental note to get rid of it properly at some point tomorrow.

For now though, he used the blanket to wipe come from Merlin's stomach and both their hands, pressing kisses to every spot after he cleaned it, until he could hear the boy's breathing beginning to even out as he slid into a state of sated exhaustion.

Arthur cradled him close, running a hand through his dark hair over and over so that he could feel the movement sinking into his arm like a memory—a motion he'd never forget.

"I—" Merlin yawned, "Arthur?"

"Yeah?" he whispered, moving so that his lips brushed across Merlin's jaw.

There was a short pause. "Y'know that I...I mean...you know I like really...I love you."

Arthur watched as the younger man's blue eyes darted up to his and away again. "I figured," he murmured back, only teasing a little. Then he realised that Merlin was waiting, his fingers clenching and unclenching as his body went tense against Arthur's. "I love you too, of course," he murmured, briskly, like it was obvious—which, to anyone but Merlin, it bloody well _was_. "Even when you're being an idiot," he added as an afterthought, just so the younger man could be sure who had spoken.

"' _Specially_ when 'm being an idiot," Merlin corrected, even though his mind was all fuzzy from bliss and tiredness, and he wasn't quite sure if his words were making sense anymore.

"Yes." Arthur smiled fondly, tightening his hold on him. " _Especially_."


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

Morgana found them in the morning, wrapped around each other, Merlin's mouth against Arthur's chest as he slept, twitching slightly as he dreamt but with a smile on his face.

The older man's arms were secure as they held him, fingers splayed over his shoulder blades. She decided against waking them, and when Gwen joined her and pulled her close so that they could kiss, pressed up against the doorframe, it dawned on her how perfect this arrangement was.

"They're good for each other," Gwen murmured, although she was chewing her lip when her eyes fell on Arthur.

"If he hurts him—" Morgana began, but then Merlin made a small noise in his sleep and they watched as the blond seemed to instinctively curl tighter around him, nosing along his jaw and making soothing noises at the back of his throat. The rest of Morgana's words died in her mouth, and she shrugged with a sigh.

Gwen smiled and buried her face in her shoulder. "We've all got each other now," she chuckled softly, her breath tickling Morgana's neck.

Morgana's own breath stuttered slightly at that, and she squeezed Gwen tightly, as if enough contact would override the guilt she felt whenever she thought of why she had come here in the first place.

_I'll never hurt any of them_ , she thought, _because then we'll all end up damaged._

_***_

The penalty for crossing from the Light side of the Wall without a Pass was imprisonment. On the other hand though, the punishment for crossing from the Dark side was _death_ —these were facts that Lance was well aware of as he stumbled through the court houses, refusing to lower his head as the Authorities looked him in the eye and passed judgement.

Still, it was something of a shock to his system when they announced it to the room, the occupants of which seemed more bored than anything. _Bored_ , while Lance was sentenced and then escorted from the room, flanked by bigger men whose grips on his arms were like metal vices.

The judge's words still pounded through his head as they walked him down dank prison corridors:

" _Do you know why we enforce this law, uh—"_

" _Lancelot."_

" _Do you?"_

" _Not really."_

And the man's fingers had tightened over the wooden ledge before him, as he lifted himself out of his seat to glare at Lance with yellowing eyes.

" _It is to stop filth migrating and infecting the pure—to stop_ sorcerers _and thieves and murderers. Do you think we should just allow these people to cross without having earned a Pass first?"_

" _No."_

" _No. Which is why the wilddeoren will be having you. Take him away."_

Lance couldn't help but twist his arms fruitlessly, trying to free them as his mind played one word over and over and over: _wilddeoren._

He had heard of such creatures from his father and from books at school, but never had he actually seen one up close, despite rumours that some ran wild this side of the Wall. He knew what they were though, and he knew from pictures what they looked like—great hairless monsters with pink skin stretched tight over their rats' bodies. They had teeth as long as the bones in Lance's legs, made to pierce and crush until their victims were unrecognisable.

Lance was certain that it wasn't usual to be executed in such a way, when it was for the crime he had committed. The only reasoning he could come up with was that it had been a slow week and that the wilddeoren were _hungry_.

"Wait," he suddenly spoke, struggling as the guards propelled him towards an empty cell. "When am I to be—?"

"Dawn," one man grunted before he could finish his question, shortly before throwing him inside. Lance stood helplessly as they locked the barred door and left him alone in the darkness.

The cell was completely empty—devoid of bed-board or pail, so he had to settle with curling up with his arms around his knees and his back to the wall, eyes peeled for any signs of rats scuttling in the gloom. He wasn't sure why he cared though, and when he _did_ see one scampering across the floor, he did nothing but watch it go, envying its freedom.

It was impossible to sleep. Impossible to even shut his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time because every time he did, he thought he heard or felt something and ended up twitching uncontrollably with his hands repeatedly slapping at his legs and the back of his neck, when he thought something had touched him there.

He wondered how other men and women managed to survive days in such conditions... _years_ even. Thinking about it, Lance almost thought the death penalty was kinder. Not that he was going to die. Dying really wasn't an option at that point—he had set out to find Gwen, and that's exactly what he'd do, even if it meant escaping some human-flesh-eating vermin along the way. He only wished he hadn't gotten caught in the first place: it only wasted time.

***

Merlin woke to the feeling of Arthur's hand rubbing up and down his side, from his thigh up to his underarm and back again. He made a small contented noise at the back of his throat and pressed a little closer to the other, urging him with a snuffle and a kiss to his chin to continue.

Arthur chuckled at the chin-kiss and carried on rubbing.

"It's almost midday," he informed the younger man, "You've definitely missed the start of your lesson."

"Saturday," Merlin mumbled as a helpful reminder before pressing his fists to his eyes, "No lessons on Saturday. Only food and telly."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and carefully—reluctantly, _unwillingly_ —extracted himself from the boy's clinging limbs. "You are _not_ staying and bed and eating all day," he sighed as he got to his feet with a stretch. Merlin's eyes were glassy as they followed the movement, and he licked his dry lips before saying,

"I _know!_ I'm going to have to move around a bit for the TV, aren't I?"

The blond looked over his shoulder to catch Merlin's playful grin before walking around the sofa-bed and giving the boy a harmless swat on the arse. "Get that lazy backside out of bed—the mail'll be here in a sec."

Merlin poked out his tongue and dragged himself to the edge of the mattress before rolling ninja-style onto the floor. Arthur groaned exasperatedly to cover up his laugh but was then silenced and taken by surprise when the other sprang to his feet and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I'll get it!"

***

Merlin was very fond of mail. He liked the flat white envelopes with their cutting corners and neatly pressed stamps—not least because they often bore Arthur's striking profile, outlined with gold. He liked the way the address was written and the sound of the paper tearing as he pulled it open, the sight of the letter inside peeking out.

Now he crouched down to sort through everything on the doorstep, flicking idly over bills and advertisements until there was a rattling noise, and he looked up just in time to get a face full of newspaper.

Then he made a sort of noise that sounded very much like an _oof_ , sprawling backwards onto his bum with a scowl before snatching up the paper. He had forgotten Arthur had it delivered on a Saturday and that, annoyingly, it always arrived a little later than everything else.

"You all right, Merlin?" the blond's concerned voice resounded, floating from the living room.

"Yeah!" he shouted back before returning to the paper in his hand, absentmindedly rubbing his forehead where it had struck him with the other. " _Woah..._ " he muttered softly, both in awe and in complete fear at the same time.

The headline was fat and black and easy to read, but old habits die hard, and Merlin didn't even glance at the words. His eyes instead flew straight to the photo, which was only slightly grainy and bearing a horribly familiar picture.

He had seen wilddeoren before—smaller than the couple depicted—in the streets on the other side of the Wall. They used to scare Freya whenever she was in human form, but when she changed, Merlin would watch as she chased them away, long bald tails trailing behind them in the grime. He knew that they were bred by the Authorities to be used as a form of corporal punishment, and they were what Merlin had feared for Will until Morgana read on the posters that he was to be hanged.

It had been a relief. A _relief_ that a boy was going to be killed by the rope rather than slimy, infected jaws.

Merlin's mouth was dry as his fingers traced the image, pressing around the shape of the monstrous creatures and then sliding over to the other figure in the picture: a person.

It was obvious now that the whole thing was illustrating an execution, with the two wilddeoren bearing their teeth at a man with dark hair that hung in waves past his ears. He looked poised to jump and to _run_ , like he was ready to tear away and not look back.

Merlin stared at the photo for a few seconds, his breath speeding up slightly as he tried not to imagine the feel of all those teeth sinking into his flesh and splintering his bones. Then, he dragged his eyes away to study the headline, forehead creased as he read the statement in bold aloud:

**WILDDEOREN GO HUNGRY AS PRISONER ESCAPES**

He struggled with the first word for a moment, but after that they spilled easily from his lips, making a wonderful sense. He quickly searched the page until he spotted the footnote: _Read the full story on page 17_.

With that, the boy flicked through quickly, fingers numb as he searched for the right page. When he finally located it however, he was brought up short by the solid blocks of black text and swallowed, feeling sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. He suddenly and inexplicably missed the feel of Arthur pressed against his side.

"Merlin?"

In that instant, he jumped, the newspaper almost slipping from his grasp as he heard Arthur kneel down beside him, like he had read his thoughts from the other room.

"You okay? Only you're being even slower than usual..." His voice trailed off when he began reading the paper over Merlin's shoulder. " _Shit_."

"What?" the younger man asked concernedly, twisting around to catch Arthur's now horrified expression. "I haven't read it—what does it say? Arthur?"

The blond ran a hand through his hair before getting clumsily to his feet and mumbling, "I've got to go into work...they'll probably call for me in a sec anyway."

"Why?" Merlin blinked up at him, bemused. " _What's wrong_?"

Arthur looked reluctant for a moment, fingers moving to rub exasperatedly at his eyes. "It said someone tried to jump the Wall without a Pass, so he was arrested. He somehow escaped the Wilddeoren, and they've promised a reward to anyone who can bring him in."

The boy on the floor frowned, his grip on the paper tightening. "Is he dangerous?"

"I doubt it." Arthur was already heading upstairs, and Merlin scrambled to his feet to follow.

"Then what are you doing?" He stumbled after the older man, watching when they reached his bedroom as he pulled his uniform from the wardrobe.

"He needs to be brought in—he broke the law, Merlin."

"So did I!" Merlin exclaimed, feeling faintly sick as Arthur began to pull on clothes. "Arthur, that could've been me—"

"I don't _want_ to arrest him," Arthur cut in, brushing past the younger man as he headed back onto the landing. "But everyone's going to be searching for him, and they won't care about hurting him in order to get that reward. It'd be better for him if I or one of the other Knights caught him first."

" _No_." At this, Merlin ran around so that he was blocking the way downstairs. "You can't just...you've got to give him time to escape. _Please_ , Arthur. I don't know who he is, but no one deserves _that_." He shook the paper in his fist with disgust.

The blond hesitated with his hand resting tensely on the banister, inches from being able to push Merlin aside and run to the front door.

"If I find him, I'll help him," he finally said before leaning forwards to press a chaste kiss to Merlin's lips, "and I'll be back for dinner."

Before he could say anything in response, Arthur was hurrying to the door, answering his phone as he went.

"Yeah, I did see it...Leon, listen..."

Merlin sighed as the other man left the house, letting in a sharp winter wind before slamming the door behind him.

Not long after, Gwen wandered out into the hallway, frowning at where Arthur had just left. "What was that about?" she asked, tentatively shifting her gaze towards Merlin.

The dark haired boy slowly shook his head as he walked over and dropped the newspaper from above into her outstretched hands "A prisoner escaped from over the Wall," he replied, reluctant to say anything more. At that moment, he felt slightly drained.

Gwen stared down at the paper, looking at the photograph of the man, who seemed oddly familiar in the black and white print. "Oh," she muttered, eyebrows pulling together as she contemplated the image. "Who—"

"Gwen?" Morgana stepped out to join her, tying up her hair as she walked to her side. "Are we going running this morning?"

Suddenly Gwen looked up, distractedly folding the paper in her hands. "Yes," she replied, nodding with a slight smile, "of course. Is that all right, Merlin?" she asked, her head tilting back so she could look up at him.

"Sure," he smiled, "go ahead. I've got...things..." He gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, "to do."

Morgana looked a little guilty and opened her mouth like she was about to suggest that they didn't go running after all and stayed to keep him company, but he shot her down before she even started.

" _Go_ , honestly. I'll be fine! I'll see you later when you get back."

Within ten minutes the pair of them had left the house, and Merlin was curled back up on the sofa-bed, his hands fisted in the duvet and his face buried in Arthur's pillow, breathing in the smell of the other man and bathing in the morning gold, streaming through the window.

***

The stitch in Lance's side was like a thorn beneath his skin: it twisted sharply with every step he took but was nothing compared to the slicing pain in his shoulder, where a chunk had been torn by teeth with flat, sharp edges.

He let out a short, strangled cry as he stumbled across the driveway of the little house, his vision blurred as blood soaked through his ripped shirt. He felt woozy, and the floor refused to stay still beneath his feet. It felt like a miracle when he reached the front door, and his hand blessedly managed to form a fist before he slammed it against the wood...

_One, two, three—_

It swung open without so much as a creak, oiled hinges allowing it to glide inwards until it was wide open all the way: trusting.

For a single, awful second though, Lance was terrified he was at the wrong house.

" _Fuck_."

The boy on the doorstep definitely was _not_ Arthur, and Lance thought he was going to throw up as the single second of doubt stretched into something unmanageable. "Are you all right?" he started to ask but then saw the terrible wound on the other's shoulder and inhaled sharply. "Jesus Christ, get in here." And he was reaching for him, wrapping slender fingers around his upper arms and leading him inside. "Are you here for Arthur, or Gwen? They're both out, they—"

" _Gwen_ ," Lance choked, leaning heavily on the stranger and feeling him wince when they both heard the blood gurgling in his throat. "She lives here?"

"Yes!" At this point, the boy was tugging him into a living room and pushing him into a chair. "Yes, Gwen lives here. And so does Arthur—Arthur Pendragon. Listen, I'm going to find you some bandages or something, Jesus, hang on."

Lance was seized by panic as he watched the young man with his pale skin and black hair begin to move away, his wide blue eyes terrified as he tore them from the other's mangled arm.

"No," Lance gasped, reaching out and grabbing the hem of his shirt. " _No_ , no time."

"What the fuck do you mean? Hey, listen, if I don't find you something to stop that blood, chances are you're going to d—"

"Arthur's in danger. _She's going to kill him_ ," Lance said it as quickly as he could, not knowing who this boy was and whether he cared, only trying to get his message through his tightly gritted teeth before it exploded inside him.

In an instant, the boy stopped moving—every inch of his being now looked petrified, like someone had swapped him for an ornate, ivory carving.

"You're the one from the paper," he spoke at last, weakly. His legs were trembling, and Lance wondered whether he would fall.

"My name is Lancelot," he breathed, voice scratching and fingers scrabbling at the wound in his arm. "I have come to warn you—"

"I am Merlin," the dark haired boy replied and slipped onto the sofa beside him, long limbs folding in a strange elegance as he brought his knees up to his chin. "Who wants to kill Arthur?"

***

Merlin hadn't recognised him as the escaped prisoner to start with. At first, all he had seen was a wound—the red gash hanging open over the man's shoulder, with the flesh bursting free and bleeding down his arm.

After getting the man inside and sat down though, he realised who it was, and it had occurred to him that maybe he ought to ring Arthur to tell him that there was no point searching because the man had turned up on his doorstep all by himself. But then Lancelot had spoken and something inside Merlin froze, making it impossible to move or even to think.

_She's going to kill him_.

He sat beside him now, his heart thrumming in his chest as things clicked together in his mind before he wanted them to: before he had been given all the facts.

Lancelot's eyes were glassy, and his forehead slick with sweat when he spoke. "Not Gwen," he croaked, hands trembling as he pushed them through his matted hair. "There's another girl here—black hair, pretty?"

"Yes." Merlin's voice was a whisper, and he couldn't bring his eyes away from Lancelot's face. It was a good face. A _brilliant_ face, even, and the only flaws in his appearance were the bloody wound and how sickly pale his skin was at that moment.

"I saw..." Lancelot took a painful, struggling breath. "Her on the other...the other side of the Wall. Talking. A blond woman—beautiful blond woman, talking about killing Arthur."

_Morgause._

Merlin knew he was shaking as he pictured her. He felt like his body had been spiked with electricity and now it was zinging through his veins, leaving him sore and breathless. "Why are you telling me this?" he hissed, "Why do you care about Arthur?"

"Don't..." Lance gasped, eyes pleading. "Don't care about Arthur—care about _Gwen_. _I love her_."

The younger man sat frozen for a moment. "You love Gwen..." he murmured.

" _Yes_." Lancelot's breathing was ragged. "Yes and if the girl kills Arthur...Gwen loves Arthur. I don't want Gwen hurt. You have to warn him."

' _Why can't you warn him?'_ was what Merlin wanted to ask, but he could tell that by looking at Lancelot, he might not even be alive by the time Arthur got home. Instead he uttered faintly:

"Gwen loves the girl. She broke up with Arthur—she loves Morgana."

For an instant, Lancelot looked confused, hands twisting agitatedly. "But..." He shook his head then sighed heavily. "So there is no way for this to end happily."

Merlin wasn't sure how to answer, but he could easily follow the other man's train of thought:

If Morgana lived, she would kill Arthur.

To save Arthur, Morgana might have to die.

But Merlin was in no way prepared to believe that Morgana had any such plans. Although, why would this man lie? And how else would he know about Morgause?

"You need to tell me who you are," Merlin spoke evenly, taking one of Lancelot's hands and moving it to press over his shoulder. "Hold your hand there—to stop the blood a little."

Lancelot clamped his fingers around the wound and breathed deeply. "I come from over the Wall. But I went to school with Gwen...it's complicated." He shook his head, looking like the movement cost him an inhuman amount of energy. By the time he was looking towards Merlin again, he appeared dizzy and drained.

"Can't you stay here till the others get home? Let me fix up your arm and you can speak to Ar—"

" _No_." Suddenly Lance was on his feet and swaying. "I cannot see Arthur—he doesn't like me. I have to leave."

"But—"

"I'm sorry, I must leave. Thank you, Merlin. Please keep Gwen safe."

"You don't even know who I am!" the dark haired boy protested, also getting to his feet. "What if I can't keep her safe? You don't know Morgana either—she would _never_ hurt Arthur, she—"

He hadn't finished his sentence when the memory hit him so hard that he stumbled:

_She isn't all that you think she is._

"Shit," he breathed, eyes wide as he looked at Lancelot " _Shit_."

***

It took perhaps five, painstaking minutes to get Lancelot to the front door.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" Merlin asked for the fiftieth time, "Arthur won't mind, he—"

"I do not want to see him," Lancelot spoke firmly, "or her. I just _can't_." He was shaking his head, as if thinking about Gwen was causing him physical pain. Or that could have just been the effect of the actual pain he was experiencing.

"Okay," Merlin murmured as he pulled open the front door.

The older man stepped out into the snow, his arms wrapped around himself. Merlin watched as a drop of blood trickled to the end of his elbow and then splattered onto the ice. "You will protect her?" Lancelot inquired, looking back over his shoulder, and Merlin felt a little breathless.

"I'll try," he promised, terrified by the weight of his words.

Lancelot didn't say anymore, and the boy watched as he staggered across the driveway, over the road and out of sight.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-one**

It took a few minutes for Merlin to regain control of himself after he had shut the front door, leaning heavily against it and panting as if he had just come back from running with the girls.

_The girls._

" _Morgana_ ," he whimpered, pressing his palms to his eyes, shoulders shaking. He stayed like that for a moment, trying to console himself—Lancelot could have been wrong or lying or _something_ , and really there might not be anything to worry about.

And Merlin might have happily gone along with that thought, if it wasn't for the fact that he had talked about Morgause. Merlin knew of her hatred towards the Pendragons, and he knew that she had instilled a lot of this into Morgana, although he had hoped such feelings would have been abolished by this point. They had been living with Arthur for _months_ now, for God's sake.

He was still shaking when he found his phone resting on the living room table. Arthur had bought it for him the second week after moving in, although he had only recently started texting and barely ever used it. Now he snatched it up and scrolled through the contacts.

Arthur had added Kilgharrah to his contact list when they'd gotten home yesterday, and Merlin's thumb hovered over the call button for a second before he pressed down and brought the mobile to his ear.

" _Hello, Merlin,"_ Kilgharrah's gravelly voice sounded before the boy had a chance to open his mouth.

At this, his grip on the phone tightened, and he didn't question how the dragon had known who it was without asking. "Professor...I need to talk to you. About Morgana." There was a pause on the end of the line, and Merlin could almost hear the other straightening up, alert.

" _I thought we had more time..."_ he murmured softly then let out a slow exhale. _"She must be stopped, young warlock."_

Merlin's mouth opened and closed a few times. "But I haven't even told you anything yet!"

" _I am not stupid. I know why you called, and it has been foretold that Morgana will one day try to destroy Arthur, as surely as you will stop her from succeeding."_

"I don't believe you," the boy whispered, knuckles white as he clutched the metal to his face. "I don't...she _wouldn't_. She loves Gwen and she loves me, and she wouldn't _ever_ hurt him. Never, ever—"

" _Some prophecies_ have _been known to be avoided, or wrong, but—"_

"This is one of those," Merlin told him firmly, sinking into a chair.

" _But do you want to take that risk?"_

Merlin sucked in a gulp of air, his eyes falling shut. "Should I warn Arthur?"

" _No! You must say nothing to Arthur. If Morgana's plan is to kill him, she will do it using magic, and the Pendragon does not need another reason to hate sorcery. Do what you have to in order to stop her, but tell no one of your plans."_

"You think I should kill her." His voice was hollow, and suddenly he felt strangely detached from all that was happening.

" _I think that there aren't a lot of options left open to you."_

"I can't..." he choked, shaking his head. "I _can't—"_

" _It is your destiny—"_

"Shut up!" Merlin shouted, eyes flying open as he jumped to his feet. "Shut the fuck up about my destiny—it means _nothing_ to me, what you think should happen and what shouldn't. I won't hurt her. I _love her._ "

" _More than you love Arthur?"_

His hand moved to press against his forehead. "I cannot live without either."

" _Then you are all doomed. Remember what you were born to do, Merlin. Remember all that depends on you."_

And there was a click, and a beep, as Kilgharrah ended the call.

***

When Morgana got back, she found Merlin sitting cross legged on a chair at the dining table, staring blankly ahead of him at nothing in particular.

"Heya," she beamed fondly, ruffling his hair as she walked past. "Are you all right there?"

In that instant, he glanced at her, and she frowned at the way he was holding himself so stiffly and how he had flinched slightly beneath her fingers. "Yeah," he mumbled nonchalantly, "'m fine. Just a bit tired..."

"I'm not surprised, after last night," she chuckled, waggling her eyebrows at him, but all he managed in return was a weak smile.

"Whatever." He tried to make his voice sound light, but it came out pained.

At that, Morgana instinctively moved closer to him. "Merlin, what's up?" she asked softly, pulling up a chair beside him. No sooner had she rested her hand on the wooden back, however, had he sprung to his feet.

"Seriously, I'm just really tired. Think I'm gonna take a nap or something...just for a couple of hours. I'll see you later, 'kay?"

"Okay..." Morgana was bemused as she watched Merlin hurry from the room.

On the way out he bumped into Gwen, who had a wide smile on her face. "Where are you off to?" she asked.

"Nowhere," he muttered, "I mean, just to lie down."

"Are you sick?" The concern in her voice made something inside him jerk painfully.

"No," he assured her, trying another half-grin but failing. "I'm fine. Sorry..." He awkwardly made his way past her and onto the stairs, intending to hole away in his room until he could breathe freely again.

***

Arthur's fingers were numb with cold when he shoved the key into the front door and twisted, working it open until he was back inside and standing on the welcome mat.

"Hello?" he called into the house, wearily stamping his feet to rid his shoes of the clinging snow.

Gwen poked her head out into the hallway. "Hi, Arthur," she smiled, her face a little pink just upon seeing him. "How was it?"

"We couldn't find him," he sighed as he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the banister, "I'll probably end up having to go back out again tomorrow."

She nodded and moved closer to him to dust the remaining snow from his hair, and he breathed out slowly, feeling himself relax. It had been a long day.

"Merlin's upstairs," she told him after a moment, "He went up just after Morgana and I got home. He looked a bit unwell, if you ask me."

In response, Arthur frowned. "Has he eaten?"

"I don't think so..." Gwen bit her lip and took a step away from the blond. "Maybe you should go up and check on him? Morgana tried talking to him, but he's been acting weirdly—the bedroom door was locked."

"He wouldn't let _Morgana_ in?" Arthur could instantly feel a slight panic starting up inside him as he kicked off his shoes and began to climb the stairs.

"He said he was tired," she called after him, "I don't know, Arthur. Just see that he's okay."

***

Despite Gwen telling him it was so, it still came as a surprise to Arthur when the door refused to open after he twisted the handle.

"Merlin?" he called uncertainly through the wood, "Are you in there?"

When he was met by silence, he frowned, the worry in his stomach building.

"Merlin, if you don't get up and unlock this door _right now_ , I'm going to knock it down."

After another moment of quiet, he began to hear the sounds of someone getting up and padding over to the door. A second later and there was a soft click, the scraping of a lock, and Merlin was standing in front of him, looking at his feet.

"Hey..." Arthur murmured, taking a step closer, then reached to cup the boy's jaw and tilt his head back slightly. His stomach lurched when he saw how red rimmed Merlin's eyes were. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Merlin shook his head before backing away from Arthur, turning to walk back to his bed. "I'm fine."

The blond hesitated before following him, sitting on the edge of the bed beside where Merlin had curled up over the duvet, one hand resting on the soft curve of his thigh.

"Well, that's a lie," he stated, hoping to coax Merlin into telling him why he was upset. But the boy just snorted and buried his face further into his pillow. For a second, neither of them said anything, with Arthur trying his best to be patient, but then the whole of the younger man's body tensed, and his fists curled up in frustration.

" _Fuck_ ," he growled into the cushion before proceeding to hit his fists against the mattress, shaking his head. "Fuck fuck fuck—"

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur cut in, eyes wide with alarm. "Merlin, sit up. Tell me what's wrong."

It took a little while for Merlin to uncurl himself so that he was in a sitting position, but when he finally managed one, he fell into Arthur's arms almost instantly, wrapping himself around the older man and pressing his face against his neck, which was still damp and cold from the snow outside.

The blond ran his hand up and down the other's back in an attempt to soothe him, unconsciously rocking back and forth like the teenager in his arms was still a small child.

"C'mon," he murmured against Merlin's hair, "tell me."

Suddenly the boy shook his head, jostling Arthur's chin as he sucked in a gulp of air. "Can't," he tried to explain to him, "It's nothing. I just...I just missed you. How was work?"

Arthur's arms tightened around Merlin for a second, and he didn't let up with how his hand was rubbing over the other's spine. "I missed you too," he admitted and liked the way Merlin's smile felt against his skin, "but I know that's not what's got you worked up."

The younger man had just been starting to relax, but at Arthur's words, he tensed up once more, his whole body seeming to seize into a taut line.

"I won't make you tell me, if you don't want to," the blond finally confessed, "but I'd like you to, at some point."

Merlin didn't say anything—he _couldn't_ tell Arthur about how he _hated_ that nothing ever seemed to run smoothly. How every time he thought he had found somewhere stable just to _be_ , something would come along and snatch it away.

He just sighed against Arthur's collarbone, letting himself sink into the feeling of being encircled by the other man's arms and of his frustration beginning to ebb away in spite of himself.

"Did you find the guy?" he asked eventually, even though he knew he hadn't. He _hoped_ he hadn't.

"No." Arthur's muscles rolled as he shrugged. "But the orders are to keep searching until he's caught."

Merlin shifted slightly on the other man's lap, leaning back to look at his face, when something dug into his thigh, and he winced. "Ow! What's that?" he exclaimed, sliding his hand down Arthur's side until it was flitting over his trouser pocket.

"Ah." The older man levered Merlin up slightly, so he could pull out whatever was inside. "They gave us some things to use if, uh...if we caught him."

The boy's breath was bated as the blond held up a small bottle, filled to the brim with clear liquid.

Merlin stared at it, before reaching forwards—but in a split second, Arthur jerked it away just before he could close his fingers around it.

"Don't touch it, idiot!" he admonished him, "It's poison."

At this, Merlin swallowed. "Why would you need that?"

"I don't know," Arthur sighed and used the hand that wasn't holding the bottle to rub his eyes tiredly, "I guess they just want us to be prepared for anything that might happen."

"Does it kill?" The younger man's eyes were trained on the glass, curious in the evening light.

"Yes. One sip of this, and you'll be dead within 24 hours." Arthur slipped the bottle back into his pocket then moved Merlin back onto the bed so he could stand up. "I won't be using it, if I can help it. In fact, I probably won't even bring it with me tomorrow—my aim is to _help_ the guy, not murder him."

Merlin sat up, fingers clenching and unclenching over the duvet, his throat dry as sandpaper when he asked, "Where are you gonna leave it? The poison?"

"Does it matter?" the blond asked, patting his pocket absentmindedly, and Merlin felt like his thoughtful gaze was probing him, seeking answers he wasn't prepared to give.

He tried to make his voice light. "You know me—I'll probably end up drinking it by mistake." He grinned at Arthur, whose expression darkened immediately.

"That's not funny, Merlin," he said tightly then took a deep breath and swallowed. "It'll be in the cupboard above the sink, next to the window. Just...just don't go near it, all right?"

"Arthur, I was kidding," Merlin assured him, crawling back under the duvet to hide his trembling limbs. "I'm not going to lay a finger on it."

"And you'll tell me what's wrong?" The other man's voice was softer now, and Merlin heard him take a step back towards him—could almost _hear_ the way his hand twitched in his direction, ready to comfort. He could _definitely_ hear the way it fell back again, hitting Arthur's leg with a muffled _umph_ of flesh on cotton.

"Maybe later," he whispered, drawing the covers closer around his slight frame and closing his eyes.

Arthur sighed. "Come down to sleep?"

"In a minute," Merlin murmured, feeling warmth spread through him.

"Okay, love. Take your time." And Arthur left the room, his footsteps stifled by the carpet and the glass bottle chinking against small change in his pocket.

***

Morgana stared miserably down at her hands as she sat on the edge of Gwen's bed. After a few moments, she felt the space beside her dip slightly as the other girl sat down and rested her head on her shoulder.

"I'm worried about Merlin," Morgana mumbled before rubbing at her eyes.

"Me too," Gwen admitted with a sigh, thinking about the young man with his bright blue eyes and alabaster skin and imagining the way he must've slipped into the guest room before determinedly locking the door behind him. Only Arthur had managed to get him to leave, and now the pair of them were downstairs.

Merlin had hugged Morgana tightly before they'd gone upstairs to bed, but still she worried. She felt like something was missing, and it made her feel sick.

"Nothing bad is allowed to happen to him," she spoke firmly, " _Nothing_. And if something has..." She bit her lip then shook her head, shrugging away from the other girl and climbing further onto the bed.

A few seconds passed before Gwen crawled up to join her, snuggling against her with her dark curls acting like a pillow against the brittle bones beneath Morgana's skin.

"How long have you known him?" she asked, softly.

The younger girl squeezed her eyes shut at the same time as she snaked an arm around Gwen's shoulders, pulling her closer. "Since I was about twelve...I found him, on the street. His friend had just been taken away by the Authorities." A faint tremor ran through her thin body, and she shook her head. "I don't think I'd be here without him...he gave me something to live for, you know?"

Gwen hadn't known, not really, until she'd kissed Morgana that first time. But now she felt she could nod and murmur, "Yeah, I know." without it being a lie.

***

Not long afterwards, Gwen's breathing began to even out until Morgana could tell she had fallen asleep, the soft pads of her fingers stroking gently over the top of her arm. Everything was still and silent, and when Morgana moved her toes, they brushed against Gwen's.

She could feel herself slowly sinking into unconsciousness—the weight of unwelcome worry and the stresses of the day were pulling her under and her whole body felt heavy with it, lightened only by the pressure of the other girl's body up against hers. Reassuring, warm, and solid.

It was all so dulled and _quiet_ that Morgana damn nearly screamed when the phone on the bedside table lit up with an electronic _brrrring_. As It was, she caught the noise in her throat just in time and carefully extracted herself from Gwen's soft limbs, letting her touches linger as long as was reasonable, before snatching up the mobile.

The noise it was making was amplified by the silence in the room, but when it was in her hand, it didn't seem quite so loud. Gwen merely shifted slightly in her sleep, her eyes remaining closed.

Still, Morgana left the room to answer the call, her brow furrowed as she read what it said on the small screen: _Caller Unknown._

It was her phone, and this was the first time anyone apart from Gwen or Merlin had rung her, so she felt a spike of fear before she hit the _Answer Call_ button and brought it to her ear.

She knew who it would be, of course. Somehow, she had known, and Morgause's voice was like cool water down the line, making her shiver.

" _Morgana."_

"Yes," she whispered, cradling the phone in her hands. "How did you get my number?"

" _You are not happy to hear from me?"_ It was posed as a question, but poorly. Morgana sensed that the other woman could guess her answer, and it did not please her. With that in mind, Morgana proceeded to lie:

"Of course I am, Morgause. I was just wondering—I am _relieved_ to hear from you. I...I missed you." At least that was in part truthful. Morgana had been feeling an ache where the blonde woman had been separated from her, but the pain had long since been dulled by Gwen's presence.

" _I missed you too."_ She sounded appeased, and the younger girl allowed herself to relax a little, leaning back against the wall by the bathroom. _"And you are not the only one with magic, Morgana. It wasn't hard to find your number."_

"Oh," Morgana mumbled, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

" _I told you I would get in contact when the time was near."_

Morgana slid slightly down the wall, her head thrown back against it and her eyes tight shut. "I remember," she murmured.

" _Then you will meet with me tomorrow morning—I told you about the spell, didn't I?"_

"The one that will send everyone to sleep," Morgana suddenly recalled, swallowing against the clammy sensation building on her skin.

" _Yes. It is ready. And so are you? To kill the Pendragon?"_

"I still have to kill Arthur?" she said it dully, although she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she had expected Morgause's plans to change—it was just that she hadn't expected _hers_ to change either but they had, and drastically.

" _Of course."_ Morgause's voice now had a curious lilt—as if she was confused as to why Morgana had to ask, too.

The younger girl wondered whether she ought to simply tell her on the phone that she couldn't do it—that she didn't even need to because, when the time came, Arthur would almost definitely make a great ruler, and that she cared more about keeping her relationship with Gwen than sitting where Uther did now. After a short pause though, she decided that it might be better to tell Morgause in person. She wanted to see her and explain properly. Maybe that would make her understand better.

"What time should I meet you?"

" _Seven. You'll know where to find me."_

"Seven AM..." Morgana murmured, imagining Gwen waking up to find the space beside her empty and then realising that she really didn't have a choice in this. "Okay. I'll see you then."

Morgause hung up with the faintest whisper of a goodbye, and the dark haired girl let out a long, weary sigh before straightening up and walking back to bed.

Just as she turned into the bedroom though, the bathroom door silently opened, and a boy stepped out, his toothbrush clutched in his hands and his black hair spilling over wide, horrified eyes.

***

Merlin couldn't find the air to breathe, and for a short while he just stood there, staring at the point where Morgana had disappeared into the bedroom with tears building hot and heavy behind his eyes.

He had only heard her side of the conversation, but it was enough. He tried to picture her and Morgause, plotting while he himself was waiting at home with Freya and Gwaine. How long had Morgana been living this lie?

How long had she been planning to murder Arthur, even as she slept in the same bed as Gwen?

Merlin shook his head, trying to clear it. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was mistaken. Or maybe, at half past seven tomorrow morning, Merlin would wake to an empty bed. Or Arthur would still be there with cold, white skin and a band of red around his throat, and Morgana would be missing, and Gwen would be _crying_.

Merlin would be drowning. He would have lost all.

It was with trembling hands that he pulled his phone from his pyjama pockets, his vision blurred as he searched for the right name. It took far longer than it should have to send the simple text:

_When should I do it?_

Almost immediately, the dragon's reply caused the mobile to vibrate in his palm, sending even more tremors through his body:

_The sooner, the better._


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Arthur's chest was warm on Merlin's back, and he sighed against the pressure of the other's hands flat over his abdomen, with his broad thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. It was almost surreally comfortable, and the younger man pressed back, tilting his head and stretching his neck until he was looking at the underside of Arthur's chin before nosing against it and yawning.

The blond merely held him tighter and pressed a kiss to the shallow crevice behind his ear. "Go to sleep," he murmured, his breath hot against Merlin's skin.

But Merlin hesitated, feeling the steady _thuds_ of the blond's heartbeat against his spine, and then closed his eyes, calmly forcing himself to lie still.

"What time you getting up tomorrow?" he asked quietly, running blunt nails over the back of Arthur's hands, bumping gently over his solid knuckles and following the veins as they curled towards his wrists.

The older man only shrugged. "Nine, maybe? It's still the weekend, after all. They've _got_ to give me until nine."

At this, Merlin smirked, nestling into Arthur's arms. "I don't think your father will care whether it's a Sunday or not."

" _Sleep_ , Merlin," the latter sighed, pinching the skin over his stomach so lightly that it tickled the dark haired boy more than anything. Still, Merlin let out a pitiful _oww_ , making Arthur laugh. "You are insufferable," he chuckled fondly.

" _I'm_ fabulous." Merlin mumbled back, his fingers tightening a little over Arthur's as he wished that they could just stay here in this bed, like this, forever.

"That too," Arthur agreed, brushing his lips against the back of Merlin's head for the last time before drifting into unconsciousness.

***

Merlin had set his alarm for six, but in the end, he didn't need it: he didn't sleep all night, even with Arthur's steady, soothing breaths soaking into the nape of his neck. Instead he just lay in the other's arms, feeling his limbs loosen as the night wore on and his grip on Merlin slacking so that when the morning came, it was easy for the slimmer man to slip free and scramble out of bed.

Then everything he looked at was blurred, like he was looking through some kind of warped magnifying glass, and his vision shimmered and his body swayed as he made his way almost drunkenly to the kitchen. Once he was there, he braced his arms against the sink, hanging his head so that his chin hit his chest—he felt like he was going to throw up.

After a few minutes, he felt his arms begin to seize up and go numb, at the same time as something hot and wet slid over his nose and dripped down into the porcelain basin before swirling down the plughole. He watched it go, feeling more and more bereft as others joined the first, dozens of tears whirling out of sight and leaving salty trails in their wake.

***

Morgana walked downstairs already dressed for running, with her hair swept back in a sleek ponytail. At some point during the night, her heart had found its way to her throat, and now it sat there, lodged and immovable, but beating fast as she kept replaying over and over in her head how the morning would possibly go. What Morgause would do when they saw each other.

What Morgause would _say_ when Morgana told her that they would probably never see each other again.

She sighed then bent down to pick up her trainers, which were the only item of clothing Gwen hadn't allowed to be brought upstairs, before silently shifting over to peer into the living room. In a split second, she could make out the shape of her brother— _another_ thing that had been twisting her up all night. Once this was all over, would she tell Arthur about their parentage? It gave her a small thrill to think of it: to think of having someone related to her by blood. An actual _brother_.

It took her a moment though before she finally realised that it was _only_ the blond's body beneath the duvet, with his bare chest, and arms lying atop the covers rather than under it. The space beside him was empty.

At this, Morgana frowned and moved off to check the kitchen, only to find the other boy sitting at the table with his head pillowed in his arms.

"Merlin?" she murmured, walking over to him and brushing a hand through his hair.

And very much to her surprise, he jerked upright, his mouth contorting around his confusion.

" _Huh?_ Oh! _Oh._ Morgana..." Merlin shook his head, as if to clear it then offered her a bleary smile.

The girl hesitated, lifting a hand to rest it on his cheek, but he flinched, eyes scrunching up in surprise or—Morgana's stomach flipped unpleasantly at even the very thought of it— _fear_.

"Are you all right?" she asked carefully, letting her hand drop back to her side.

"Uh..." He was staring at her closely now, and his eyes had opened to their widest, searching her face. Morgana felt as though he was willing her to fall down and into their depths like she had so often done in the past when they were alone together, enveloping each other in those strange affections they harboured. Eventually, he managed a casual "yeah", although his voice still shook slightly. He seemed spaced out: not all there, and Morgana could feel an intense worry that only ever surfaced when it came to Merlin, gnawing at her gut.

"You just woke me from a nightmare, that's all," he finished with a cordial smile.

She paused for an instant then chewed her lip and reached for his face once more, intending to smooth away those lines on his forehead and push that stray lock of hair behind his ear, when suddenly her watch gave a loud _beep_. She snatched her hand back to glimpse down at her wrist, missing the way Merlin's shoulders slouched in response.

_Six thirty_.

"I've got to go," Morgana told him, looking back up just in time to see him sit up a little straighter and hitch a smile onto his face.

"Without Gwen?" he asked in that same reserved tone, but now his hands were clutching the tabletop very tightly, his grip promptly loosening as soon as she shifted her gaze to glance at them.

"Yeah...I wanted to go a bit earlier today. Didn't want to wake her up," she replied as she quickly began to pull on her trainers, which she had been holding in her other hand. "Are you sure you're okay, Merlin?"

The boy shifted slightly on his seat, and Morgana watched from where she was crouched on the floor as he crossed and uncrossed his feet—a small sign of his agitation. "I'm _positive_."

With that, she brushed his ankle lightly with her fingertips, relieved when he didn't pull them away, before finally straightening up on her feet and making her way out to leave.

"Okay then, but...if there _is_ something, tell me when I get back, yeah?"

At that moment, Morgana whirled around just in time to catch him shoot her an incredulous look, with his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, but she could only do so much as blink at him with enough confusion in her expression to match up his disbelief. " _What_?"

Before she could say anything more though, the scepticism in his countenance swiftly melted back into cool nonchalance. "Nothing," he muttered, slowly shaking his head. "But hey, wait—" He twisted in his chair and snatched something up from the counter by the sink. "—you'll want this," he finished before he tossed her the cereal bar, and she caught it quickly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Of course," she beamed back, saluting him with it. "See you later."

"Love you!" he called after her, once she was in the hallway with her hand on the lock.

She froze for a second, trying to figure out exactly what it was she could detect in his voice: almost like disappointment. Or hope. She wondered how someone's voice could sound like two things so different.

"Love you, too," she replied, just loud enough so that she knew he'd be able to hear, then opened the front door and ran outside.

***

The moment she was outside, Morgana could feel the pull of magic, telling her which direction to go. A warm tingle wrapped playfully around her toes, and when she looked down, she found that her feet were moving almost without permission, guiding her through the snow.

She was glad Morgause had made it so easy. It meant she didn't have to think but simply allow herself to be led. As it turned out though, she was treading a path she had followed many times before—almost every day, in fact. The route that she took when running with Gwen rarely changed, and she passed all the same shops and crossed all the same roads as usual.

As she walked, despite not wanting to think of anything at all, she thought of Merlin. There was rarely a time when Merlin _wasn't_ occupying some part of her brain, but now he was at the very forefront: the way he had been asleep at the kitchen table, his fingers curled into fists. It was only just occurring to her that the boy never slept with his hands like that, unless they were fisted into someone else's clothing. Also, why _had_ he been in the kitchen anyway and not in bed with Arthur?

She closed her eyes as her head began to ache and dug into her pocket for the cereal bar before tearing it open and taking a bite. It tasted familiar and good, reminding her of Gwen. Hopefully the other girl would still be asleep by the time she got back and won't have missed her at all.

Morgana finished the cereal bar and threw the wrapper into a bin as she passed it.

***

Gwen twisted in her bed, reaching absentmindedly for the girl who had fallen asleep beside her, only to pull back empty handed. Her eyelids flickered sleepily as she scowled at the spot where Morgana should have been stretched out looking content and stunning in loose pyjama trousers and a tight white pyjama top.

It felt too much like waking up when she'd been with Arthur to give Gwen any comfort, and she got out of bed before the desperately familiar feeling of rejection could begin to take root. For once, she would like to make it through the week without waking up to an empty space.

She stretched and started to make her way towards the door before something caught her eye, nestled on Morgana's pillow. When she snatched up the note, she let out a small sigh of relief as she read through the brief but comforting message:

_Felt like an early run. Be back soon. x_

Within a few minutes, she was dressed herself and heading downstairs, not bothering to even glance into the living room since she fully assumed that the boys would most likely be asleep. She fervently hoped that Arthur had managed to find out what was wrong with Merlin and made a mental note to ask the older man about it all as soon as she got back home. For now though, she very quietly opened the door and smiled when she saw the tracks her girlfriend had made in the snow.

***

Arthur woke up to the feeling of his arms closing tightly around the air and sat bolt upright with his hair in disarray, Merlin's name falling readily from his lips as though it had been waiting on the tip of his tongue all night.

" _Merlin?_ " he called anxiously across the room, his fingers playing along the sheets beside him as if he were planning to build the boy up from feathers and cotton, when there was a crash and a yelp from the kitchen, and he could only sigh.

The younger man was sitting on the tiled floor with his head leaning back against the kitchen counter in exactly the same position he had been in that first morning, when Arthur had walked downstairs and found him surrounded by cereal.

He smiled as he lowered himself beside Merlin, locking his arms around his knees as he surveyed him. The boy was rubbing his elbow, and there was a pan on the floor that appeared to have skidded across the whole length of the room. It wasn't hard to imagine Merlin stretching and hitting the utensil with his bony arm before sending it flying.

"Let me see," he uttered gently, trying not to laugh at the stubborn little moue on Merlin's face as he stuck out his arm and looked determinedly in another direction.

Arthur massaged the soft skin around the bone, frowning slightly at the faint bruise which was already forming, and pressed a kiss to the discoloured skin. Merlin became startled at that, his head turning to gaze at Arthur before allowing himself to be tugged closer and for the older man to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"Why are you up so early?" the blond asked, placing a thumb to Merlin's chin and swiping it tenderly beneath his lip, just catching the delicate pink skin at the corner.

Merlin shrugged and took a shaky breath, raising his hands to press them over his eyes. "No reason," he mumbled, "just couldn't sleep."

"Is this because of yesterday? Because I still need you to tell me what that was about."

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin exhaled, pulling himself free of the other man's embrace and dragging himself to his feet by means of his fingertips on the counter. "Just leave it, okay? I'll...I'll be fine."

At this, Arthur scowled and likewise stood up beside him. "I _can't_ just _leave it_ , Merlin. You've got to tell me what's—" He hadn't finished his sentence when the house phone on the kitchen wall suddenly started ringing, and Merlin sent it a death glare, thinking: _Too many phone calls lately._

Arthur sighed heavily, his eyes still on Merlin's face. "You _will_ explain all this to me," he insisted decisively before snatching up the phone and pressing it warily to his ear. " _Hello?_ "

The younger man watched as the other's expression flickered from annoyed to anxious to resigned in less than ten seconds.

"Right, of course...I'm leaving now."

Merlin's shoulders sagged as he put the phone down. "What is it?" he asked, looking at the blond with concern. "I thought you weren't gonna leave till nine!"

"It was Leon—they think they've seen the prisoner," he sighed, shaking his head. "I just want to see if I can get there and help before it's all too late. Plus—" With that, he turned to give the boy a steely look. "This gives you some more time to work on what you're going to tell me when I get back."

"But—" Merlin began to protest, but then Arthur was there, pulling him into a hug.

"Just...look: you can tell me anything, okay? I don't care. Whatever it is, it won't change... _this_." And he squeezed Merlin tighter, to show him fully what he meant. "You just have to trust me."

As he was released, the other didn't even ask whether Arthur would care if he knew about the magic. Instead, he mustered up a smile from somewhere low in his throat. "Okay," he replied quietly, "When you get home, then."

In response, Arthur nodded, even though he could sense that there was still something off about Merlin's smile—as if it had been dragged to the forefront, rather than being instinctual like all of the boy's other expressions. Instinctual and far too telling.

This smile told Arthur nothing, apart from the fact that Merlin had something to hide.

He sighed and ruffled the younger man's hair, before turning to leave. "Go back to bed, Merlin," he shouted over his shoulder, as he ran upstairs to get changed.

Fifteen minutes later, he was gone.

***

The pull around Morgana's ankles was like silk, gently tugging her along, and she tripped her way through the snow, her arms outstretched from either side of her body like she was a child trying to balance. A small smile was curled across her face, as she pictured how perfect everything would be.

She found herself turning towards the great grey warehouse on the corner of the road, with its doors open for once, and she remembered the first time she had run past it— the pride she had felt blooming in her chest once she had left it behind.

Inside it was dark though—filled with a blackness that seeped out and bleached the snow to shadow, but the girl stepped into it, shivering when the temperature dropped inside the walls of freezing metal.

"Morgause?" Her voice was a whisper, clouding out in front of her as she wrapped her arms around herself.

There was a shift towards the back of the warehouse: a subtle bending of light, and then a shape was forming, stepping out into view. Morgause stood tall and willowy in the morning sunbeam, which shafted through the slits that could only just be described as windows, and Morgana felt something curl in her stomach—an old desire which she thought would have been satiated by now. Or forgotten.

Morgause took three long strides, tossing blond hair over her shoulder as she moved, before she was directly in front of the younger woman, her breath wet on her lips and her eyes glinting coolly.

"Are you ready?" she asked, searching Morgana's face carefully and lifting a hand to brush the pads of her fingers over her throat.

"I..." Morgana's eyes fell shut, and she teetered forward slightly, practically inviting the kiss that fell upon her lips and working them apart with desperate urges of Morgause's tongue. The familiar heat and taste of it set her heart pounding and before she knew what was happening, she was against the wall, groaning into every vicious twist of the other woman's lips.

"I said," Morgause spoke again, only pulling away far enough so that their mouths brushed when she spoke. " _Are you ready?_ "

At this, Morgana blinked, feeling horror surging up inside her at the same time as defeat sang dully in her ears, because she had never been able to resist Morgause. Even if she didn't love her...even if she loved someone else.

That was why it felt like such a triumph when she finally realised with conviction what she was going to say:

"N _—_ "

" _Morgana?_ "

In an instant, the two women looked around at exactly the same time, with the sunlight catching at the space in between them and hugging at their frames before slithering across the floor to wrap around—

"Gwen..." Morgana murmured, as something sudden and ugly tightened in her chest, and she gasped, sinking to the floor with a cry, the same time that her watch beeped _seven_.

***

Merlin had the radio playing so loudly that the sound coming out of the speakers was more like a continual wail than anything, bouncing off the tiled walls and screeching back into his ears. But he wasn't dancing—In fact, he was barely even moving as the distorted singing resonated inside him, filling him to the brim with screams that he desperately wanted to let out.

He felt as if everything around him would crumble if he took a single step—everything that he had come to cherish over his time in this little house and everything he had cared for before arriving seemed to be balanced on the edge of a knife. The top of a wall.

That was why he stood stock still in the centre of the room, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides, terrified of putting too much weight on any side and setting something unstoppable in motion. It was stupid, he knew, but he felt like perhaps if he stayed like this long enough, Arthur and Morgana would somehow both make it home, safe and happy to put everything right, like they had so often done in the past.

He felt this despite the knife that had recently clattered into the sink, after he used it to subtly pierce the wrapper of Morgana's cereal bar—a small enough slit so that she'd never notice—and spilled a single drop from Arthur's bottle of poison through the gap.

Merlin had planned it before getting into bed that night. He had planned it seconds before texting Kilgharrah—but there had still been something instinctual in the action, like he hadn't _really_ been planning to go through with it until it happened and the knife was in his fist. In the end, protecting Arthur had been all that mattered.

But now he had no idea whether he had made the right choice. He knew nothing except for the beat of the music, thundering through him, and the ticking sound of the clock on the wall...in spite of the sheer volume of the radio, he couldn't _un_ -hear the second hand moving resolutely around the face above the oven.

His eyes were trained upon it, obsessively following its motion as it crept towards the twelve, with the smaller hand getting closer and closer to the seven. It didn't feel real, any of it. He felt sick and faint and hot, and when finally, _finally,_ both hands hit their marks, his knees gave out and he crumpled, hardly noticing when the music stuttered, as if the radio were changing stations all by itself.

" _Gwen_ ," he found himself choking out her name, assuming that she was the only other person in the house. Unfortunately, he hadn't heard her leave and now panic spiked in his veins. " _GWEN!_ "

Sobs rattled through him and he couldn't breathe, but Gwen wasn't coming downstairs to find him, even though he knew she would if she were there. Which meant she was gone. He clutched at his chest, over where his top pocket would be and all those newspaper clippings had once resided.

Where he kept all his stupid love for girls who had taken care of him and boys who had kissed him and held him at night.

"Morgana," he murmured softly as he crawled into the corner of the room, curling up into himself as he rocked back and forth, knowing that she had eaten what he'd given her. Knowing that she'd have trusted him implicitly right up until the end.

_But where was Gwen?_

She must have followed the other girl out, without Merlin noticing. Had she seen Morgana fall?

He let his head drop back against the wall with a _crack_ , a sharp jolt of pain spiralling out in webs from the point where his skull had connected with the plaster. It grounded him—pulled him back to reality as nothing else would have been able to. Except perhaps Arthur.

He blinked, dragging lungfuls of air into his body and becoming slowly more aware of what was going on around him—of the radio that still seemed to be malfunctioning.

_...house appears to be...and...the knights are being called in as I speak, there's a..._

Merlin sat up properly, blinking as the back of his head throbbed and frowning in the direction of the radio. The music had stopped entirely now, and he had a vague flashback to Arthur telling him how, if something majorly effecting to the people of Camelot happened, the Authorities had the power to overrun the media—so if he switched on the TV now, he was sure that it would be flashing between channels, too, trying to convey some kind of message.

The young warlock felt his blood chilling in his veins as he wondered just how coincidental it could be that the Authorities were trying to send a message the same day that he had essentially committed murder.

Even though Morgana wouldn't be dead yet.

Wouldn't be dead.

Someone would save her. She wouldn't die. _Couldn't_ die. Merlin didn't want her dead—he only wanted for her not to harm Arthur. She would be okay. She—

_Some kind of winged animal appears to be_ attacking _Pendragon Estate...the houses around me are being evacuated at this moment, and knights are arriving, along with Arthur Pendragon himself..._

Merlin swiftly got to his feet, staring at the radio with wide eyes, his heart pounding in his ears. The reporter's voice was scratchy, and her words were like sandpaper on the inside of his brain.

_...I'm getting more information on the situation now...it seems like rebels from the_ other side _have broken into Uther Pendragon's own home...I'm getting names..._

He knew who it was before she said it, and he was already sprinting to the front door, barefoot and still in his sleep clothes, when her voice boomed through the house:

_...Gwaine...I'm being told that he's been planning this for a while. Their names are Gwaine and Freya..._


	23. Chapter Twenty-three

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Merlin knew that Camelot's comprehensive was a car journey away and that, theoretically, it would take him perhaps an hour to reach there on foot.

But he had never been one to let the theoretical slow him down.

It wasn't a spell, but more like a natural force was surging through him as he ran, charging him like a battery and making him _fast_. He could feel energy pulsating through him as if he was being injected with adrenaline, and his eyes were hot and he knew, _golden._

He wondered though, why he hadn't been able to do this when running from the Authorities with Morgana all those months ago and couldn't shake the feeling that _somehow,_ Arthur was involved.

He reached the school in a matter of minutes, blurring past ordinary people on the streets without so much as glancing at them, and when the time came, he scaled the great black gate with an agility and grace he would never have normally.

He felt like a fucking superhero. Sure he was in his pyjamas, but whatever.

Breaking into the actual school building felt pleasantly rewarding—he charged headlong at the door and revelled in the feeling of it splintering around him, even though he staggered a little over the residue once he was inside.

" _KILGHARRAH!"_ he shouted, stopping just inside the entrance, his voice resonating in the entry hall and sounding deep and guttural. Like someone else's voice entirely.

The dragon was before him in moments—and he seemed to move with even more ease than Merlin, still wearing the same clothes as two days prior, with the dark green material of his suit hugging tightly to his frame.

"I heard," he said, simply, and Merlin suddenly noticed that the speakers in the corners of the room were delivering the same messages as the radio back home. "It's a good thing you came here, young warlock. I might have been elsewhere."

"I _knew_ you were here," the boy countered distractedly, "I could...I could feel it..." He frowned at Kilgharrah, speculating how this could be.

"Ah..." the dragon's lips quirked as he spoke. "The reason for that, I will explain to you another time. For now you must get me out of this blasted skin, and I will take you to the Pendragon's."

Merlin only blinked at him. "What? Wait, I have to do that _now?_ But I don't know how! Also, I have a feeling that setting you free just...wouldn't be a good idea. You'll just kill everyone for what they've done to you!"

" _Merlin_." Kilgharrah's voice shuddered through them both, and the boy only just kept from flinching as the dragon's eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't have time for this. _Arthur_ doesn't have time for this—I knew that this would all happen soon, but dammit, if only you'd been brought to me earlier. I met you _two days_ ago." He shook his head with his eyes squeezed shut.

"Hey, that's not _my_ fault," Merlin pointed out, distracted by the way Kilgharrah was drawing in deep breaths through his snout-like nose.

"I know, I know." His eyes snapped open, and he fixed Merlin with his gaze. "But you must set me free, or I cannot help you."

"I barely even know what I need help for!" Merlin cried out desperately, only just restraining from waving his arms in the air. "I thought Gwaine and Freya had been captured, and now apparently they're _here_ , and—"

"I told you that you would see them again, did I not?" the dragon interrupted, shedding his blazer as he spoke.

Merlin flinched as the item of clothing fell to the floor and then disintegrated with a burst of acrid smoke, leaving behind a pile of black ash. "Y-yes," he stuttered.

"Well then. They are on this side of the Wall, and they are here to carry out one of Gwaine's more rash plans, I believe." the other smirked, and the boy instantly felt a surge of anger.

"How can you be so fucking _calm_ about this? How can you _smile_? Gwaine and Freya...they might die! Uther has all kinds of protection, he has—"

"The knights?" Kilgharrah finished for him, " _Arthur_?"

Merlin swallowed, running a hand helplessly through his hair.

"Tell me, Merlin—do you think Gwaine will hold back, if he sees Uther's son? Do you think he'll care if you had some obsession with him? Do you think that'll stop him from killing him, or from Freya killing him?"

"I...I don't—"

"They don't know of his destiny, Merlin, and they do not know of yours. There will be bloodshed this day, and it is _you_ who holds the power over who will die and who will not. Now, release me and _we will fly_."

Merlin's breath was harsh in his throat as he raised his hands before him, his whole body quaking with a power that had not yet been instilled within him. He waited, somehow already knowing what would happen before it did.

Kilgharrah's smile twisted like a snake on his face as he took a step forwards and pressed his fingertips to the boy's, his eyes becoming heavy lidded as a raw power ran through him and became absorbed into Merlin's skin.

In a split second, an overwhelming amount of magic was being charged inside Merlin's veins, and he let out a cry, knees buckling, eyes watering...

Kilgharrah caught him just before he fell, a scream tearing from his chest as change overtook his body and fire lit up his soul.

***

Arthur wasn't quite sure what had happened—one moment they had been striding along the border, with the Wall casting its shadow over the streets and houses, and the next Leon had been grabbing his arm and yelling into his ear.

" _The house, Sire_." The use of his title brought Arthur up short—he was rarely referred to a _Prince Arthur_ , despite his father's status, and Leon only ever called him 'Sire' when he was taking the piss, or if something was seriously wrong.

"What?" He allowed himself to be pulled around by Leon's persistent grip on his forearm, until he could see what the other knight was seeing. " _Hell_ ," he murmured under his breath, as he watched the monster scaling the side of his father's home.

It was huge—big enough to be easily made out, even from this distance, as some kind of giant black tiger with claws gouged lines into the brick walls like they were chalk. The things that were most impressive though, or perhaps most terrifying, were the wings that were clamped to the creature's back. Even as Arthur watched, the animal threw back its head, the great sheets of leather rippling as it climbed...

"Is that a _man_?" The blond took a stumbling step forwards, squinting, as he saw the shape of a person, clinging to the monster's black hair.

"Sire, your father is still inside." It was Percy who spoke now, his shoulders knocking with Arthur's as he moved to stand beside him.

At that moment, Arthur blinked, disorientated as he tore his eyes away from the horrific sight of his old home being destroyed. "My father..."

"We have to move." And when he turned to look again, Leon was already running in the direction of the house, and the others were quick to catch up.

***

Kilgharrah's scales were hot beneath Merlin's fingers, as he struggled to find purchase on the green, diamond cut ridges that ran smoothly over his back and up his neck, turning a rusted amber-gold as they reached his great head.

Merlin couldn't un-see the way he had shed his human skin like a coat with the help of his magic, leaving it to burn on the floor as he rose up—majestic and the last of his kind, stretching his wings so that they crashed through the school, destroying it utterly. Merlin had yelled then in fear, bringing his arms up over his head only to find that he was completely protected by the dragon's wingspan.

"Onto my back, young warlock," he had boomed, his voice magnified a thousand times as he crouched low to the floor, allowing Merlin to hurry forwards and clamber up. He was surprised by how rough the creature's skin was—how easy to grip.

What _didn't_ surprise him, however, was the delicious warmth that at once seemed to wrap around him, holding him in place like the seatbelt in Arthur's car.

Within moments, they had been flying: Kilgharrah beat his wings once, twice, and they were careering upwards into the white winter sky. Looking back over his shoulder, Merlin could see beyond the Wall, where the air seamlessly turned from clear to muggy and grey.

Riding a dragon wasn't comfortable. The warlock was jostled constantly by the movement of Kilgharrah's wings, and his thighs burned from both the heat and the chafing of the dragon's scales against his skin. There were even moments where the ex-professor would dip slightly, or speed up, and Merlin lurched painfully where he sat, fear clenching in his belly every time he thought he might fall.

All of this seemed like nothing, though, compared to the very moment they had left the school far behind them and were circling low over the centre of Camelot. Merlin had leant forward and screamed into the dragon's ear as people in the streets fled, their cries of terror twisting through the frozen air:

" _HEAD FOR PENDRAGON ESTATE!_ " he bellowed as loud as he could, crawling further up Kilgharrah's back just to make sure he heard.

He _knew_ he had heard...and yet, the dragon paid him no heed.

Pendragon Estate was _so close_ —close enough that Merlin could _see_ the damage being caused to it already. He even thought he had seen a black shape climbing the walls. The idea that he might be this near to Freya and Gwaine made his heart beat wildly in his chest.

But Kilgharrah simply ignored his request—ignored what they had both _set out to do in the first place_ and opened his mouth wide to let out a wicked tongue of fire that licked cruelly at the pavements and lapped around the ankles of hundreds of innocent people...

" _Stop!_ " Merlin shouted, pounding his fists against the dragon's back. "They haven't hurt you! It wasn't them— _stop!_ "

But he didn't stop, and Merlin wondered whether he was even able to, for Kilgharrah seemed so charged with something other than flame and magic as he soared through the sky. Merlin could imagine the anger as a tangible thing, coursing through the dragon's body like a drug. Citizens of Camelot were falling like dominoes in a child's game: a man's head collided with a dead woman's feet when he fell, and they lay, a gruesome pair in revenge's sport.

"Please," the young warlock found himself crying out, kicking his heels against the creature's leathery hide. "Please—" No matter how much he tried, it just wasn't working. Merlin tipped his head back, trying to breathe in something that wasn't sickening smoke and the stench of smouldering death, and found himself muttering to the clouds, each word swept up among the snowflakes and stolen by the wind.

He wasn't even sure what he was saying. He wasn't even sure what language it was, but it spilt from his lips as easily as kisses against Arthur's mouth. They ran from him into the heavens, swelling in volume until he knew it would be all the people down below could hear—all Kilgharrah could hear. He himself was drowning in the omnipresent sound of his own voice.

And then it was over, and the dragon was pulling away, spiralling upwards once more as though obeying a sudden command.

Merlin slumped forwards, his cheek pressing against hot scales, gasping over and over until he felt dizzy.

"Why—"

"You know why," Kilgharrah growled, his voice vibrating through his body. Anger stirred inside Merlin's chest.

"Don't do it again," he instructed firmly, and he knew that his tone conveyed all that he felt: the grief and silent fury that so many people's lives had just been destroyed but wouldn't have been if Merlin had kept Kilgharrah's soul wrapped up in human skin. He didn't voice out loud how he already thought it had been a mistake to let him go, because he knew he didn't need to, and he knew the dragon understood.

"You are just like your father." Another rumbling beneath the great expanse of flesh. "He was an expert at dragon-speak, too."

Merlin's stomach plummeted as Kilgharrah dived downwards, the same time as his mind whirred: _dragon-speak_. So that was what he had been yelling in. And that was why Kilgharrah had brought his wrath to an end.

He had, after all, done as Merlin had told him. "Pendragon Estate, young warlock."

The boy looked up, feeling the breeze whip across his face and pushing sharp fingers back through his dark hair. Before him now stood Arthur's old home, with the roof caved in and the doors blown out, teeming with people from both sides of the Wall—and they collided with each other in clashes of bright magical lights and the flashes of metallic weapons.

It would almost be beautiful, Merlin thought as he watched a great black cat stalk forwards, her eyes gleaming like gems, if it weren't for the wet spatters of crimson that soaked the once spotless furniture and the sight of Arthur Pendragon facing Freya from over a yawning chasm in the floor.

***

It wasn't a war, exactly, that awaited the Knights when they arrived at Pendragon Estate. It wasn't even a battle, despite the fact that there were at least thirty sorcerers who had somehow made it over the Wall without being detected, dressed in the drab clothing that Merlin and Morgana had once worn and aiming curses at the Authorities who had arrived on cue. Arthur had never liked the Authorities—had never liked the way they seemed to cloud like insects, buzzing and lethal.

All in all, it was more like a rebellion, but on a larger scale than any that Arthur had ever witnessed in his lifetime. The sorcerers, the blond soon realised, were acting as nothing more than a distraction for it was the thing on the roof, which trembled ominously, that they ought to be focussing on right that second.

He guessed, as he quickly charged through the battered front door, alternatively calling to his Knights and yelling hoarsely for his father, that he should have seen it coming. There was only so long that a brick wall could stand up against so much anger and resentment. But he only wished that all of this could have waited another day—his head flooding with thoughts about how he had left Merlin that morning, with the boy so obviously on edge and with something to tell him...

Arthur jerked to a halt so suddenly that Leon collided into him.

"God damn it, Arthur! _Move_! We have to get to your father—that _thing_ on the roof is here for him!"

Arthur's eyes blinked as he spun around slowly to look at the other man, words seeming to come to his ears slower than usual. Had Merlin known about this? Is that what had been wrong with him?

Anger twisted in his gut as he imagined it. How could he have been so _foolish_ to think that Merlin cared about him? That Merlin had been in love with _him_ , the son of the man who enforced the laws of the Wall—who endorsed the execution of children and petty criminals, who were probably only trying to survive?

"That...the thing," Arthur just barely managed, gesturing to the ceiling, which shook again as they all heard the animal screech up above them. "What did it look like to you?" At first, Leon opened his mouth, looking like he was going to ask why the hell it mattered as long as they killed the bloody thing, but Arthur yelled, leaning closer to his friend and spraying him with spit as he grabbed the front of his jacket. " _What did it look like_?"

"A...a cat," Leon gasped in one breath, "a _winged_ cat."

In an instant, Arthur released his grip, inhaling deeply. It was her. He _knew_ it was her. The girl Merlin had grown up with and then told him about—the very kitten who he had carried back to Morgana and whom they had raised between them.

"Sire." And there it was again, the use of his title. "You go find the king—I'll stay here with the others."

Arthur looked around, feeling sick as he watched a bolt of light hit the mantelpiece, sufficiently cracking it and shattering a family photograph in which Uther's fingers had been curled possessively around the back of his son's neck while Gwen stood a little way off to the left. The picture had never done justice to her smile.

"Okay," he finally exhaled, pulling away from Leon and beginning to run towards the crumbling stairs, yanking his gun from his holster as he went and slamming the butt into a man's face as he ran towards him, feeling his nose crunch on impact beneath the metal. "Keep them all down here!" he yelled back to Leon, hoping that he heard him. It would be hard enough attacking a monster—and he wasn't even going to _think_ about how it was in fact a young girl—without a dozen sorcerers on his tail.

The stairs were slick with blood when the prince began to climb them, and shards of glass were crushed beneath his feet, from the windows that had been blown in from either side. His hands slid on the banisters as he stumbled upwards, feeling a strange terror curling in his stomach as his eyes landed on household objects that had once been so familiar to him but were now stark and broken—an umbrella stand that smouldered and glistened. A bookshelf on the landing that lay splintered, saturated by thousands of smoking black holes.

He could hardly breathe at all when he at last reached the top floor, where his old bedroom and his father's room resided. Down the hallway was a glass door, and behind that would be a ladder that would take him up onto the roof. His father had made him climb it once when he was little, as a test of his endurance—he had fancied himself afraid of heights at the time. Once standing on the roof, however, all Arthur had felt was freedom, even when he spied the Wall, oppressive and grey on the other side of town.

He made to turn towards it, ignoring the breaths that tore through him in heavy, painful pants. As he passed by his father's door though, he couldn't help but pause...he had to _check_ , to see if the man was in there and not doing anything foolish—such as 'donning his armour' and preparing to wade downstairs. He had to make sure he was _safe_ , and his hand was hovering over the handle when it happened.

The roof, which had admittedly been undergoing a lot of strain over the last half hour or so, groaned loudly, and Arthur looked up in time to see a crack, spindling out from one corner of the ceiling to another.

"Dad," he murmured, almost faint enough that the sound was swallowed by the loud rumblings of the house.

Then everything fell apart.


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

**Chapter Twenty-four**

Arthur screamed.

It started all backwards, spilling from his mouth and throat before it sank through his body to rest heavily in the hard heels of his feet. It was like ice, cutting him inside until his soul bled snow and frost and he was cold all over.

He just stood there, like he was still ten years old, his mouth wide open to let out the sound, and he wasn't sure if he was screaming a name—wasn't sure if he was calling for Uther or Merlin, or anyone at all.

In the end, it didn't really matter.

Half of the roof had fallen in, great chunks of it tearing through the floor and falling to crash into the basement, creating huge black holes in their wake. Arthur was on the edge of one such void, his yells turning into whimpers and then silence, as he teetered dangerously, too afraid to look to his right, where his father's room was—would it still be a room, when he finally did look?—and too afraid to look down. All he could do was stare ahead, trying not to sway from lack of oxygen after not taking a breath for so long, and shaking his head to rid it of the echoing, reverberating clashes left over from the crumbling walls and fighting down below.

In front of him, the only thing he could safely lay his eyes on was the monster. Its hair shone dully in the harsh sunlight, and it blinked at him curiously, like it was deliberating what would be the easiest way to cut him down—with teeth, or with jagged claw.

Upon its back... _her_ back, was a man, just like Arthur had thought. His expression was grim as he pushed tangled brown hair back from his face, while his other hand was resting in the creature's hair, caressing a spot on her neck as he shifted and angled himself to face Arthur.

"I know Merlin," the blond instinctively choked out, not sure if this would help him or not, not sure if he even wanted help, or if he would be happy to have his heart torn out. "He...he's safe."

The man stared at him, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, as the cat took a step forwards so that her claws were clutching at the other side of the gaping hole in between them. Arthur thought she looked like she might leap over and maul him where he stood, but before she could even begin to spread her wings, a sound suddenly rent the sky apart.

Arthur looked up in disbelief as the noise roared and whistled through the now dilapidated building, making him wish he wasn't holding a gun so he could simply clamp his hands over his ears. Across the precipice, the cat jerked backwards, yowling as she peered up into the air.

The blond glanced back towards them in time to see the other man's jaw go slack. He didn't hear the words that were yelled, but he could read them in the twisting of the latter's lips: _Merlin_.

At once, his gaze returned to the skies, and he saw what they were seeing—saw what was _impossible_ to miss:

The dragon was immense and looked almost exactly how Arthur had imagined such a creature to look, minus the lithe young man sitting astride it. He stared at the familiar outline, feeling something winding unpleasantly inside him, at the same time as a _yearning_ threaded its way through the thrumming of his heart. He reached out a hand, almost blindly, and took a staggering step forwards.

***

Merlin had been sitting up straight, feeling the bright sunlight hit his back before it spread out around him, casting his black shadow across the back of Kilgharrah's neck, when Arthur moved. He had already been dangerously close to the edge—so close that Merlin had been finding it hard to breathe, but now he was seconds away from falling through the air, with his arm outstretched in a way that made Merlin's heart ache.

He had never seen Arthur look truly vulnerable before.

Of course, he did the first thing he could think of to save him, gasping as the spell disconnected from his veins in order to fly down to the older man and wrap strong, invisible limbs around his torso to force him back.

Merlin watched as Arthur stumbled, his pale blue eyes wide and shocked as they judged where the magic had come from. As they landed on his face and suddenly became intent with understanding.

"Forgive me," Merlin murmured, even though there was no way the other could hear him. Then he was tying Arthur in those translucent arms once more, ignoring the way he yelled and struggled and _screamed_ at him to—

" _Stop, Merlin—stop this!"_

—andtransporting him down through the abyss and out of sight.

The other knights would keep him safe. They _had_ to keep him safe.

***

"Merlin," Gwaine slid from Freya's back at the same time as Merlin was lowered to the floor by Kilgharrah. He fell into the older man's arms with a soft cry, burying his face against the familiar chest and shuddering, his other hand going to tangle in Freya's hair.

"I'm...so, _so_ glad you're okay," he could barely get the words out between sobs, and he was clutching at Gwaine as if his life depended on it.

"Of course we're okay." His voice was gruff but shaking as he ran fingers through the boy's dark hair, holding him as tightly as possible. "We came back for you and Morgana."

At this, Merlin pulled back slightly, his tears blurring down his face. "But why are there so many of you? What's happening, Gwaine?"

The other took a sharp breath, looking slightly unsteady on his feet even though, for once, he didn't seem to have been drinking. "Morgause," he breathed, not missing the way that Merlin's body stiffened at the name. "She organised us...broke me and Freya away from the Authorities but did something to the people holding us, so they wouldn't realise we'd gone. She rounded up some people—people who wanted Uther and Aredian gone, like me. Then she put this spell on Freya, to make her change early...all of us have instructions to kill the Pendragons."

"Instructions?" Merlin spat, suddenly furious. "Arthur hasn't done anything. You can't just—"

"I know," Gwaine interrupted him, "I never intended to hurt Arthur. I only came for you, Merlin." He released his grip on the boy and stood back a little to take in his appearance. "Are you all right? And _please_ tell me you're going to, at some point, explain the ruddy great lizard." With that, he gestured, with a dumbfounded expression, to Kilgharrah, who snorted in displeasure.

"I'm fine," he whispered, knuckling his eyes with his shoulders hunched. "Uh, that's Kilgharrah. He's sort of...well, a dragon." He couldn't be bothered to offer much more of an explanation, even if it made Gwaine roll his eyes, before he was pressing on to more important matters: "But Morgana's gone—she...she was working with Morgause. She's gone and..." He shook his head, eyes glistening as Gwaine rocked him gently.

"Morgause told me that, too..." he murmured quietly, "about how they had both been coming up with a plan...but I don't believe it. Morgause is _cruel_ , and Morgana isn't."

"But Morgana's _gone_ ," Merlin stressed, feeling anguish swirling in his chest and unwilling to tell his old mentor and friend what he had done to the girl he cared for so much.

"Then we'll get her back."

***

It turned out that, although when Gwaine had said ' _we'll_ ' and had meant it, only Merlin ended up leaving Pendragon Estate, his feet pounding against the ice covered ground, feeling the wet slush squish in between his toes with each lung-tearing step.

For, just seconds after Gwaine had spoken, a stinging zap of orange light had shot upwards and sank deep into Freya's belly. The two men had cried out as one when she fell, her body twitching as the magic in her rebelled and she suddenly began to shrink and mutate, turning more fragilely human with every second. She hadn't died but had merely laid there, her head in Gwaine's lap as she took a thousand little gasps and fluttered her eyelids as she tried to focus in on Merlin.

He had leant forwards and embraced her gently, for a moment cradling her thin form against his own, breathing in the smell of her hair and pressing his cheek to the skin of her neck. Then he lowered her back down, a hand trailing over her stomach where there was a mess of blood that smeared over her pale skin when he touched it. He wanted to heal her, and he'd tried in that moment, eyes squeezing shut in concentration, but then Gwaine was yelling at him to go, to _go find Morgana_ , because he would take care of Freya:

" _She'll be okay! Just go, Merlin!"_

Kilgharrah had offered to take him at first, but Merlin had merely scowled. "I think you've done enough," he'd said, only to have his words painfully proven now as he ran past the dead, burning bodies of all the dragon's countless victims.

He had seen Arthur just before he left the house—fighting beside the other Knights, and for a second, his eyes had connected with Merlin's, and his mouth had opened...

The boy even thought he saw the other's gaze flick towards his bare feet with a look of disapproval flashing across his face, and it had been so _Arthur_ that Merlin almost turned right back around. Almost cast a spell which would be so powerful that there would be no survivors apart from him and Arthur, and that would be all that mattered.

But he hadn't gone back. He just kept on running.

Gwaine had been the one to eventually find his way down to the ground though, and snag the Prince's arm, even as his lungs burned with the effort of not crying and not looking up to where Freya lay on the floorboards high above them.

"I have to tell you something," he rasped, ducking and dragging Arthur out of the fray. "About Merlin—he had nothing to do with any of this, believe me."

The blond man's eyes had narrowed, but for a moment he was isolated from the battle and prepared to listen to the ragged man before him.

***

Gwen ran forwards, gasping as she dropped to her knees beside where Morgana laid, hands flitting in terror over her chest and trembling with each heaving breath. Then, she was roughly shoved aside by the other blonde woman who just seconds before had had her tongue in Morgana's mouth.

"Is she all right?" she finally asked, because now was not the time to start clawing some stranger's eyes out. Even though her hands shook with the need to do _something_...

"She's been poisoned," the other woman spat out and spun around on her, steely eyes flashing. "Did you do this?"

"Of course not," Gwen hissed, even as she reached out to tangle a hand in Morgana's hair, tears building hot and heavy in her eyelids. "I don't know who you are," she managed to utter steadily, "but if you can save her...if you're magic, or...I don't know, _whatever_ , you have to save her."

"Merlin," Morgana suddenly gasped, lifting a hand to press over her heart as though something inside was hurting. "He gave me..." In that instant, her eyes were wide with misunderstanding.

Gwen stared down at her, mouth falling open as it clicked into place what she was saying. "Merlin _wouldn't,_ Morgana, he—"

But before she could finish her sentence, there was a _clang_ of something hitting the metal walls of the warehouse, and she looked over her shoulder to see the boy in question, still wearing his pyjamas and stumbling inside after having thrown the doors open as wide as they could go.

The connection between Merlin and Morgana was a unique one—they hadn't been brought together by fate or destiny, as Merlin and Arthur had, but _forced_ into each other's arms by circumstance. Their relationship had developed quickly, but that was not strange seeing how alike they were: stubborn and brave and _good_ , the pair of them.

Ever since they had met, they had spent almost every night curled together to keep warm and to feel safe. There had been no romance but so much care and affection that a lot of people would probably find it hard to believe that they had never even kissed. But even that was not what made them special—what made them different was the link that had been built over time between them, with their magic creating bridges between their hearts every time they brushed hands or whispered a secret into the other's ear.

Merlin and Morgana were joined by a brittle bond of their own making, even if they hadn't set out to create it on purpose, but because they never really understood that it was there, it had never been put to use.

Never, until the girl with her dark hair curling delicately around her throat and fluttering against Morgause's hands, met eyes with Merlin. And she didn't utter a word because she didn't have to. Her thoughts flowed effortlessly down some invisible wire straight into the boy's head, making him reel from them. It was different to those few times when he had purposefully invaded someone else's mind—and in fact, he had only ever done that _twice_ in his life—once to Will, by accident, and on the first occasion he had met Gwaine.

Instead of feeling even marginally in control of what he was seeing, the pictures came in an unprecedented _rush_ of colour and sound and taste, and he found himself gasping from it. Morgana appeared to be experiencing something similar because she slipped a few inches farther down the wall, tears sliding down from her eyes and over her nose.

It ended as quickly as it had begun, the connection breaking as soon as Morgana tore her eyes away from his. He had seen all she had wanted him to—the love she had for Gwen and for him had been so poignant that he was left dizzy and disorientated and _horrified_.

He had been wrong. Kilgharrah had been wrong. Morgause had been wrong.

All of them so very, very wrong about the girl who now had poison winding its way to her heart.

"Morgana—" he croaked, taking a stumbling step forwards because he knew that she was aware of what he had done. She knew it was his fault she was dying and the betrayal was something neither of them would ever be able to get over. Her eyes snapped back to his and there was something swirling in the depths of her irises that Merlin didn't like.

_What had he done?_

"Get back." Morgause's voice cut through the silence like a blade and Merlin flinched, turning to look at her. He opened his mouth, although to say what he wasn't sure. He was pretty certain that Morgause was as much to blame for this as he was, somewhere along the line...or perhaps that was just some small part of him that still wanted to believe he could make this better.

But, whatever it was and whatever he might have said didn't matter when Morgause's eyes darkened to a whirling amber and he was sent flying back, crashing into the wall and cracking his head against the metal.

Someone screamed, and Merlin dazedly lifted his head to see Gwen getting to her feet, obviously unsure which way to turn—to run to Merlin or stay with Morgana. She had her back to the girl on the floor for only a moment, and the boy's tongue was too heavy, his mind too disorientated to tell her to look back. To please, _please_ look back...

Because Morgause was lifting Morgana into her arms with a graceful ease, her gaze malicious as the younger girl failed to truly realise what was happening, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion...

"Gwen?"

Merlin felt his heart break for what seemed to be the seventeenth time that day when Morgana whispered the name of the only girl she had ever loved, before there was a swirl of black and blonde, and in the next second, he and Gwen were alone.

***

It was odd, he thought, when Gwen realised what had happened and started yelling, dropping to her knees and running her hands over the spot where Morgana had vanished...it was odd because he had assumed everything would go silent. His head hurt so very much, and he wanted _quiet_. He didn't want to think about what had just happened, and it was too hard anyway. Everything seemed to be moving sluggishly: Gwen slumped forwards in slow motion, curling up and shaking in a way that was fuzzy and blurred around the edges.

And Merlin wanted to go to her and put his arms around her, but when he tried to move, something _pulled_. A sharp, twisting pain in his shoulder, and then a thin cry tore through him, wailing through the warehouse like a ghost calling out to the living.

Like a small boy yelling for his mother.

But Gwen didn't move from where she lay, and he wanted to know _why_. Everything spun and ached and burned, and he decided that if she wasn't going to move, she might be dead, and he liked her. He didn't want her to be gone, so he shut his eyes as tightly as he could because the emptiness behind his lids was so much nicer than the emptiness of her not being there anymore.

He didn't fully register the hands that came to wrap around him, moving him gently. Words penetrated his ears like they were being spoken underwater—so that he thought he could almost see bubbles floating through the air even with his eyes closed, round and shining, and he reached out to pop them, only frowning when they refused to disappear.

" _God, he's...please, oh my God, help me!_ "

The next thing he knew, a voice was ringing slightly clearer than all the other noises—one that sounded so worried, and Merlin frowned even harder at that, trying to ask the voice to repeat itself, because he hadn't heard it properly the first time. Besides, he liked the way it sounded—familiar and soft like a bright yellow blanket that Merlin wished would smother him.

"Gaius, quickly..." it spoke again, and the boy thought he made a noise in response. It might have been bad—a noise that screamed and screamed because that's just what he felt like doing at that moment. Or it might have been quiet because Merlin couldn't imagine finding a scream inside him right now, not when his throat felt so closed up and his eyes so salty. He wanted to open them wide. He could do that, couldn't he? He could—

"Open your eyes for me, my dear boy," another murmured, then there were more hands and more sounds, different but still nice. Still strangely recognisable, talking to him softly. Merlin thought it sounded shaky, like this voice might cry.

His eyeballs flicked left and right beneath their lids, and his brain seemed to be slamming against the inside of his skull. He was scared that if he did manage to open his eyes, blood would come pouring out of them from inside him, and then he might stain his pyjamas, which would be awful because they weren't even his, they belonged to—

" _Arthur_."

***

Arthur let out a small sob of relief when Merlin finally spoke, and it wasn't a scream or a mumble, but a name. _His_ name.

The boy's eyes still hadn't opened, but Arthur was cradling him in his arms while Gaius looked him over with trembling fingers.

"Merlin, my dear boy, _Merlin_ ," he kept saying as he examined him, and the Prince took this to mean that Gaius actually _knew_ Merlin, although he couldn't begin to clue that one together right now. Leon was kneeling beside Gwen, checking her for injuries as instructed, and Arthur silently prayed that she was okay.

He had seen, from a distance, all that had happened. Through the warehouse doors he had watched as the blonde witch sent Merlin crashing backwards, hitting the wall with a crack as his arm broke, almost at the same time as she stole Morgana away. And Arthur was sure his pulse had stopped then, from the shock of it.

But now Merlin was pressing his nose up against his neck, his breath hot and shaky. Arthur wondered if the boy even knew where he was, or who was holding him, but he hoped he could tell.

"I've got you," he promised, blinking rapidly as Gaius tested the warlock's shoulder, nudging it gently and making Merlin whine from pain. "Shhh, I've got you, Merlin. You're going to be okay."

As he crooned softly into the boy's ear, he spied Gwen getting to her feet and tugging away from Leon, making her way unsteadily to the door to look outside.

"What happened?" she asked, her gaze directed towards Pendragon Estate, which Arthur knew was now aflame. He wasn't quite sure what to tell her though. She looked like she was about to break into a run any moment.

He opened his mouth, struggling internally with finding somewhere to begin, when the boy in his arms twitched and began to yell.

In an instant, Arthur looked down in shock at the words streaming from Merlin as his back arched and his eyes finally, _finally_ opened, only to reveal a set of irises that burned a terrifyingly beautiful gold. Nothing the boy was saying made sense—it was all in another language, or perhaps it was just nonsense that he had made up, his body trying to rid him of a thousand haunting nightmares.

And he continued to consider these possibilities as he shifted, trying to angle Merlin better for Gaius to calm him, when there was a familiar roar shrouding the air, and Gwen sucked in a shocked gasp, stumbling backwards as the dragon flew into view, russet scales winking in the sunlight as he landed.

"You called, young warlock," the creature murmured, but even that was loud, and Gwen's hair fluttered slightly in the breeze created by his breath as she turned to stare incredulously at Merlin. Arthur's arms tightened protectively around him.

"I am angry with you," Merlin's voice was bitten off because there was no denying that he felt _betrayed_ by Kilgharrah. He had thought that, at last, there was someone who could truly teach him about his powers. And then the bloody great monster had gone on a murdering rampage, as well as making the biggest mistake about Morgana that was possible to make.

He inclined his head. "I am sorry, Merlin," he uttered solemnly, his voice rumbling through the floor and up Merlin's spine.

"Merlin..." Arthur whispered, "Why have you brought him here?"

The boy curled closer to him, his brain still riddling through everything that had happened. It was disorientating, and he continued to feel sick, with the pain in his shoulder spiking unpleasantly. "For Gwen," he replied hoarsely, his forehead damp with sweat.

The Prince's nostrils flared for a moment, although not out of anger—it was more like he simply needed as much oxygen in his lungs as possible, as he came to an understanding. "Gaius," he sighed and gestured for Gaius to take over holding Merlin, shifting his weight gently before getting up and edging past the dragon to join Gwen, who was staring up at the creature with a look of awe painted on her face.

"Gaius?" Merlin's voice was small and confused when he twisted in the old man's grip, his fingers running disbelievingly over the veined and knotted hands. "You're not dead."

"No," he chuckled, and the boy let out a small whimper of relief as he was hugged gently. "The King kept me on when he heard about the way I am with medicine. I am court physician now. But I confess, Merlin, I didn't think I would ever get to see you again—although I prayed for it every day." His voice trembled slightly, and Merlin tilted his head to see that Gaius was crying softly. He sighed and pressed back, not having the energy to do anything but lie there. "I'm so proud of you, my boy," Gaius told him, careful not to jostle his shoulder as he pushed some of the dark hair out of Merlin's eyes, so he could better see the dragon waiting before them.

***

"I saw your brother, up at the Estate." Arthur watched Gwen for her reaction—the way she gasped slightly, her hands balling at her sides.

"Was he..."

"He was fine, when I left. Fighting...for the other side, of course." His voice was almost fond, although it had been frustrating, darting left and right and trying to _avoid_ killing his friend, despite the fact they were meant to be fighting against each other.

"Good," she whispered, and Arthur wondered at how stunning she looked and how out of place.

"Merlin called him for you," he said softly, taking her arm and turning her gently to face the dragon.

She stared up at it, swallowing when it turned to meet her gaze. "Why?" she asked, choosing that question over the thousands of others that were eagerly making themselves known.

"To find her." he replied simply.

She blinked before stepping forwards, tentatively reaching out.

"My name is Kilgharrah," the dragon spoke and lowered himself so that Gwen would be able to climb up onto his back, if she wished to. At this, Arthur's mouth immediately fell open, and Kilgharrah chuckled.

"You used to teach me!" Gwen's voice was only slightly hysterical. "There was a man called Kilgharrah at my school, before I got transferred."

"I remember you well, Gwen," he laughed with a kind voice. . Affectionate, even. _Fate had not treated her kindly_ , he thought. It never really did.

"Can you...can you help me?" she asked, taking a step closer.

"I can," Kilgharrah assured, feeling Merlin's gaze on him—the gaze of a dragonlord, no less, although the boy didn't know it yet.

Gwen only hesitated a moment longer, and then she was climbing up with a wonderful grace, settling just behind the dragon's head with her hands resting on his neck. She looked so different compared to how Merlin had.

Merlin, who was a child of Winter and Snow and the hot things that accompanied the cold, like tea and quilts and warm meals.

Merlin wasn't made to sit astride creatures of such fire, but Gwen, who had always revelled in the high temperature in her little house even when Arthur thought he might faint from the heat, appeared at home on Kilgharrah's back. Her hair streamed out behind her, the sunlight catching on the waves and clinging to them, so she looked almost dazzling where she sat.

"I want to find my brother and father, first," she spoke clearly, although her voice faltered ever so slightly as she wondered how her life could have been so entirely altered in such a short amount of time. "Then Morgana."

"Of course." Kilgharrah straightened up, his wings unfolding from where they were clamped to his back. "Goodbye, young warlock," he uttered with a curt nod, "Prince Arthur."

And then they were gone, and the two men whose hearts beat the same frantic rhythms, whose souls twisted together in the same golden shapes, watched them disappear as the dragon took off into the air once more, breathing summer into the sun as he shot like wildfire through the sky.


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**TWO YEARS LATER**

The radiator beneath the windowsill was cold against the back of Merlin's thighs as he leant against it and watched the Prince of Camelot, pretending to be asleep in their bed. The room was cool with its whitewashed walls and the smell of the sea, briny and salt licked, drifted through the open window along with the sunlight.

They had moved into this house exactly one year and ten months ago, and Merlin could remember the feeling of Arthur's arm around his waist and the hot, promising kiss against his mouth before they had walked into their new home. It was situated just ten minutes from Camelot Bay because at the time, Merlin had never seen the body of water, or _any_ body of water apart from when Arthur ran him a bath and slipped in behind him, his hand firm against his thin chest...

To be honest, Merlin would have been content to never see the ocean, if it was between that and the feel of Arthur at his back in a shallow tub, but luckily he never had to choose.

Now the breeze from outside buffeted him slightly, and he straightened up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'll never get used to this," he sighed.

At that, the blond in the bed cracked his eyes open as he returned the boy's smile...although he had long since stopped being a boy, really. "Used to what?" Arthur asked him.

"Summer," Merlin spoke with a shrug and turned around to look out through the glass, pressing his hand thoughtfully against it. This was the second summer he had ever spent with Arthur. He remembered the first, when he had stared aghast at the way his skin burned beneath the sun's rays, moaning loudly that he was hurting until Arthur realised what had happened and berated him for at least an hour about the importance of wearing sun cream.

It had all turned out right in the end though, when Merlin had reminded the older man how the sun had once been very rare over the Wall, before he was manhandled onto the bed so Arthur could rub in the after sun all over his body.

Even in the places that Merlin was very sure had been in shadow the whole time. Arthur was considerate like that.

"You once told me that you liked winter because it was the same everywhere." The older man's voice was soft and curious, and Merlin felt something warm blossom in his chest that Arthur had remembered. "Now the Wall is gone, and summer is also the same. So do you like that, too?"

The boy hesitated for a second, thinking about the heat and what it reminded him of—Gwen and Kilgharrah and the beach. "I suppose," he allowed, trying to ignore the way something tightened in his gut as he glanced towards the pile of newspapers, building up in a teetering stack by the bedroom door. And each one held news of the dragon's progress as he travelled. Some days there would be nothing in the papers and nothing on the telly though, because he hadn't been sighted. Then someone would spot him, blocking out the sun or curling up to sleep upon a cloud. He hadn't returned to Merlin, and unfortunately, Morgana had not yet been found.

Morgana, the thought of whom made Merlin shrink into himself, his arms moving to wrap tightly around his chest. Often, Arthur would find him like that and proceed to sink down beside him, whispering that it wasn't his fault even though it was. It was, it was, _it was_.

The boy wondered whether it would ever stop tearing at his insides—how he had watched her vanish, unable to do anything but bear the knowledge that he had _poisoned_ her. The look on her face as her mouth twisted around Gwen's name; helpless and confused and hurt...

Gwen wasn't as easy to spot in the sky as Kilgharrah, but Merlin knew that she was with him still. She was nestled at his side on the clouds, and when they passed in front of the moon you could sometimes discern her silhouette, not quite lost amongst the great blackness of his.

And in the end, Merlin knew she wouldn't leave the Great Dragon until Morgana was rescued. The weight of the future that entailed hung over them everyday—an inevitable fight between them and Morgause that loomed, the colour of blood, steel and lightening above their heads.

Even now when the dark haired boy tried to mask the grim expression on his face, the blond still saw right through him, noticing with those clear blue eyes the regret his best friend, lover, the person he cared for most, couldn't stop feeling.

"Come here," Arthur murmured fondly, and Merlin obeyed without even really thinking about it, sighing as he slotted against the other with their naked bodies tangling together beneath the light blue duvet. Merlin's fingers ran over the other's stomach, pushing lightly at where the muscles gave way to softer flesh. He had bitten this spot before, tasting the salt on Arthur's skin and licking gleefully around his belly button, making the older man laugh and beg him to stop because it tickled.

"My father wants me to go back," Arthur spoke in a soft, sombre voice after a moment.

In that instant, Merlin's hands paused in their exploration of his abdomen, and he looked into the blond's face, propping himself up on his elbow.

In the end all those years ago, Uther had been rescued from beneath the rubble, injured but alive, just before Kilgharrah had set the Estate on fire. On the other hand, Aredian's body had never been found, but no one had even pretended to be concerned at that.

However, it made something hot and angry twist inside Merlin, when he thought about how Freya hadn't made it out, but Uther had...even though the King had been persuaded to change the laws about magic—and by _persuaded_ , he meant the stories Arthur had helped Merlin write and publish in spite of the fact that the man was his own father, revealing the horrors from over the Wall. All in all, they had been, to Merlin's delight, quite scandalous, and the end result was _finally_ for the senior Pendragon to have the Wall brought down, brick by brick.

Merlin had watched, shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, as the last of the debris was cleared away and Camelot was made whole, as it hadn't been in centuries.

"Will you go?" he asked, quietly, pillowing his head on the other man's chest and listening to the beat of his heart. It was a rhythm only Merlin could ever get to accelerate.

He sighed heavily, running a hand fondly up the boy's pale back until it came to rest at his nape with calloused fingers rubbing behind his ears so that Merlin was practically purring. He chuckled then shrugged. "I left the Knights for a reason."

At this, Merlin blushed, feeling the blood rising in his cheekbones—Arthur had declared his reasoning to the whole bloody court, with the younger man plastered to his side like a limpet. The Prince was going to "retire for a few years", in order to spend time with the man he loved and away from all the "fuck ups" that his father had caused.

It had _not_ gone down well with Uther and his advisors, to say the least, but they hadn't been able to stop him for Arthur had, quite literally, swept Merlin off his feet, grinning as the younger man squawked when he carried him from Pendragon Estate—which had been excellently refurbished in a very short amount of time, although it could never quite be the same after so much damage. It had an air of something broken about it now, replacing what had once been grand.

"I know," Merlin finally said, ducking his head and gasping softly as the movement caused the old ache to twinge in his shoulder.

At once, Arthur was manoeuvring him so he was flat on his stomach, and the older man was pressing down over the throbbing in his wiry muscles. There was a salve that Gaius had taught Merlin how to make, and the Prince warmed it between his fingers before applying it to Merlin's skin. It smelt spicy, and Arthur was glad because it didn't really change the boy's natural scent but only added to it.

"Dad's ill," the blond continued quietly, and Merlin didn't miss the way he sounded almost...lost. "They'll want me to take over the throne, when the time comes."

"It's what you're meant for, Arthur," the warlock murmured, reaching back until his hand was touching the inside of the other's elbow and tracing the soft skin there with his index finger.

Arthur finished up and gently tugged Merlin, so that his slim legs were straddling his thighs, narrow hips wiggling in a way that made the Prince laugh.

In that moment, nothing else really mattered. The past was there, ingrained in the straining of sinews in Merlin's arm, and stacked up in black and white ink by the door, but the present had always been overwhelming, whenever it was just the two of them.

They tended to become buried in the here and now, forgetting that there was a future to have eventually because each second had to be experienced, lived, and then lost before they could consider the next. Sometimes it was the only way they could make it through each hour—by thinking of nothing but the wetness of his mouth and the sweetness of his words. The warmth of his encircling arms and the light in his eyes.

Merlin smiled at the feeling of Arthur's hands trailing up his front, pausing over where his heart was encased in delicate flesh, and the fluttering pulse points in his neck.

In the next minute, it might be suggested that they take a walk along the bay, or turn on the TV, or for Merlin to do some trick with his magic. Or they might simply continue to do nothing but linger in each other's arms as they revelled in the fact that now, in this new age of Kings and dragons, they were free to be who they pleased, as long as the waves kept churning and the seasons kept changing.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to mention at the top, but the title of this fic comes from a couple of my favourite songs-- Bible Belt by Dry the River and Blinding by Florence and the Machine :')


End file.
